Cabin Fever
by Amy Kitty Katz
Summary: The Great 8 all get snowed in at Canada's house. Russia has his pipe, Italy acts inappropriate, America is hiding a secret, and Japan keeps getting touched. Odd things are bound to happen. Especially when a certain Frenchie starts to notice the little Canadian. I ADOPTED THIS STORY FROM 'Optimistically-Hopeless! NiChu. UsUk, FraNada, GerIta, maybe others.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! I'm Amy. I adopted this story from **Optimistically-Hopeless**, who kindly let me adopt it. For those of you who have waited for me to put it up, I'm sorry. Truth is, I didn't have all the documents down. I had about half of all the chapters down, when the story got deleted. I asked **Optimistically-Hopeless** for them, who e-mailed me. So now, I can finally get this crap going! I'm going to keep the first six chapters the same, because I don't want to change them. And for newcomers, enjoy~

* * *

This meeting today didn't seem to be much different from any other meeting before it. As always, the World Conference had been absolute chaos without much of anything being resolved by the countries. America had spouted out his ridiculous ideas while stuffing hamburgers down his throat. His great ideas of today were how nothing tasted better than deep-fried Twinkies, and how more global warming would be totally awesome so there could be more beaches and opportunities to eat ice cream and not feel guilty about it. England had come back at all of his ideas with how much of a stupid git he was and how he really needed to go on a diet. This was then followed by a barrage of snide remarks about the Brit's cooking, resulting him to cuss everyone out like a true British "gentleman." France joined in with everyone as they insulted him and his gentlemanly ways, which ended up with him getting a sharp punch in the ribs. China began complaining about the immaturity of Western cultures, his hand on his wok because of the fair haired country next to him. Russia just sat there contently, a smile on his face—which was never a good sign. A smiling Russia was a plotting Russia. Japan sat in his seat as he pulled out ear buds to drown out the shouting—he had been doing this for a while now, seeing as they never actually got anything done in these meetings. A happy Italy was laughing at all of the commotion, amused by how everyone hated each other. His smile quickly faded though when he looked at the German beside him.

"Ve?" he said, tilting his head. "Germany, are you okay? You look like you're about to jump up and kill everyone!" The German did always look angry, but rarely did he look murderous. He usually just saved those kinds of looks for Italy and his mass amounts of clumsiness and naivety.

Germany remained silent, his face only growing redder with anger. "Don't tempt me," he growled, glaring at the whole room.

"I'll help!" Russia suddenly chimed in, quickly pulling out his pipe. "If we kill them, can I get America? I've always wondered what he'd look like soaked in his own blood…" A string of "kol kol"s emanated from him, sending the room temperature down a few degrees.

"Nein!" Germany said, giving Russia a glare—not that it scared the Russian one bit. "Killing doesn't solve anything. Believe me, I know."

Russia just laughed his sweet little child-like laugh. "It may not help, but it sure is a lot of fun!" The room went down a few more degrees as Russia's smile grew. "I love it when the blood splatters. Such a pretty color. Oh, and the patterns they make. So beautiful…"

"Ve, Germany!" Italy said, scooting closer to the blonde country, visibly shaking. "Germany, he's really freaking me out! Make him stop!" Germany didn't though, seeing as—after all—it _was_ Russia. He was like a bad head-ache; if you leave him alone long enough, he'll go away… for a while at least.

There was a loud crash as the fight between France and England continued to escalate. "Damn frog!" he cried, running after the retreating Frenchman. Wanting to beat the worthless life out of France for his arrogance and Frenchiness, England grabbed the closest thing to him as he pulled down a hockey stick from the wall. "I'm going to kill you this time!" he yelled, lifting the hockey stick above his head. He had a malicious gleam in his eyes and was about to bury the weapon in his stupid face when—

"STOP!"

Abruptly, the room went silent besides Russia leaking out a few last "kol"s. Everyone looked up to, for the first time that day, see Canada, the one who's house they were at for the meeting. They all paused in embarrassment as they realized they had once again forgotten his existence. How were they always able to do that?

Canada stood there vehemently, pointing a finger threateningly at England, making the island nation nervous. Never before had anyone seen timid little Canada so enraged. Even when he was constantly ignored, he was calm or resigned about it. Never before had anyone seen him _angry_. No one had any idea as to why he would be so outraged.

"Put," the Canadian growled fiercely. "The hockey stick. Down. _Now_."

For a few moments England didn't move, still shocked by the sudden existence of an angry Canada. Then, not wanting to upset him any further, he slowly put the hockey stick back in its place. "Sorry," he murmured, carefully backing away from the wall.

Seeming to calm down a bit now that his precious hockey stick was out of harm's way, Canada sat back in his seat. (The rest of the group had been wondering why an empty chair was there; well, now they knew.) "Alright," he said tiredly. "I say we call it a day. I'm tired of people not noticing my existence."

"Whoo!" America cried, obviously either not noticing or caring about his brother's depression. "I get to go home! Go USA!"

"Good thing, my head is killing me. I need a nice cup of tea."

"_Pasta_!"

"Now I can come up with more ideas of what to do with Lithuania! The old techniques are getting rather old. Kol kol…"

"Aiyaa, I need to feed my panda, aru!"

Quickly, everyone rushed out of the room, once again forgetting that Canada even existed. He sat and watched as they left, dropping his eyes to the table. Why wouldn't any of them pay him attention? He had done a lot of things! He had invented the zipper! Zippers were really important, weren't they? Everyone used them! And he provided them with Canadian bacon and hockey! Surely the world would be much darker without his bacon!

He roughly crashed his forehead into the table, letting out a little moan of frustration. Oh, who was he kidding? He was a nobody, a complete hoser. His own brother didn't even notice him or even bother to remember his name. For God's sake, America could remember Kazi… Kazix… Kazikisht… Kazakhstan? How the hell could he not remember—?!

"Canada?"

Holy crap, someone remembered his name. He jumped as he looked up, hoping he wasn't hallucinating. Standing beside him was France, his usual charming smile on his face. Canada felt his face become slightly warmer, not used to people actually coming up to talk to him. "Y-yeah?" Canada answered, uncertain. It had been a long time since France talked to him. Okay, it had been a long time since _anyone_ had talked to him; but still!

"I'm sorry for making England angry enough that he tried to damage your hockey stick," France said, swaying his hair slightly. "I didn't think he'd react like that to me trying to take his clothes off. He usually just yells."

A little disturbed—yet not completely surprised—that France had precedents to this, Canada just laughed it off. "Eh, it's okay. Just… just don't let it happen again, okay? Please?"

"Well, I can't promise that!" France said with a laugh, making Canada a little apprehensive. France must have seen this as he quickly added, "But I'll make sure he doesn't damage anything of yours."

Canada gave a little nod of appreciation, not quite sure of he liked the attention. He was so used to not getting any, so having someone actually come up and apologize to him like this was fairly rare. Feeling awkward, Canada stood up as he gathered up his things. "Well," he said, trying to keep himself occupied with something, "you should get going, right? You need to get home."

France looked at him, almost with a hurt expression. "Well, I was thinking, and—"

However, Canada never found out what he was thinking as America burst back into the room. "Yo, Canadia!" he called, making his brother cringe. "We can't get out!"

Once he had gotten over the pain of once again not being correctly recognized, Canada tilted his head curiously. They couldn't get out? Canada put down his things as he stared at the American. "What?" he said, confused. Why wouldn't they be able to get out? He wouldn't be surprised if America was just messing with him—the stupid jerk really liked to do that.

"Dude, the door won't open and the windows are all white! We can't see a single thing outside!"

Oh maple hockey. Canada ran past the American and out the door, through the hall and to the foyer that lead to the front door. All of the other countries were gathered here, looking like they were also trying to figure out how to get out. Russia had pulled out his pipe and looked like he was going to bust out one of the windows if he didn't get an answer soon. Canada went to the door and tried to push it open so he could get all of these people out of his house. However, it didn't budge even a centimeter. Canada was by no means weak, being nearly as strong as America. So if he wasn't able to make the door open, no one else would be able to either.

"Oh no," Canada said, pushing the door once again to no avail. Seeing as it wasn't going to move any time soon, Canada backed away from the door, his stomach tying in knots. This wasn't good. Not good at all. "Well," he said, scratching his head nervously, "it looks like we're snowed in."

The room went surprisingly quiet as Canada announced this, all of the countries' faces going from annoyed to distraught. "Snowed it?" America repeated, his shoulders slumping. "But I wanna go home! My home is so much more awesome!"

England glared at America, looking disgusted. "Don't tell me I'm going to be stuck in the same house as this idiot."

"Who are you calling an idiot?"

"Thank you for proving my point."

"HEY!" The two of them then proceeded to go at each other for each other's throats.

"We're stuck!" Italy screamed, actually opening his auburn eyes—which never a good sign. "AAH, we're stuck! Ve, Germany, Germany! I don't want to stay here forever! It's so cold and scary and different and it doesn't have pasta and I don't want to stay here forever! Germany! _Germany!_"

Italy received a quick smack to the head, sending his eyes shut again. "Shut up, _dummkopf_!" Italy began to cry, which made Germany pat him on the head. "Calm down," he said, trying to sound reassuring in his harsh German tone. "We'll get out eventually. Now calm yourself."

A few sniffles escaped the small country, but he put a smile on his face as he nodded. "O-okay. I trust you."

The tough country blushed very slightly as he ruffled the Italian's hair. "_Sehr gut_."

In his own little corner, Japan fiddled with his newest piece of technology, trying to figure out a way that he could escape. "I'm not sure I can handre this," he mumbled to himself, scrolling down his screen. "Everyone's so roud."

"My panda needs food, aru!" China cried, waving his arms frantically, he long sleeves flapping loudly in the air. "Aiyaa, this is why I hate Western cultures, aru! This is so stupid, aru!"

The only one who didn't seem upset about this was Russia. "Since we are all here," he said matter-of-factly, the smile on his face growing, "now would be a good time for you all to become one with Mother Russia, da?"

Everyone stopped their arguments to take a minute to glare at the Russian and his all-too content smile. "Hell no!" they all yelled simultaneously, quickly reengaging in their previous fights.

"Everyone, calm down!" Canada said, but his frail voice couldn't be heard over all the yelling. He tried to get their attention again, but his voice was once again drowned out. He gave a sigh of defeat and was about to give up when…

"'Ey! Canada is trying to speak!" Canada jumped, shocked that someone was standing up for him. He recognized the accent, but still turned in disbelief to see France behind him, an annoyed look on his face. Hearing that people had finally silenced themselves, Canada turned back around to face them, feeling himself get extremely nervous. He didn't like being the center of the attention

"Uh," Canada said nervously, clutching his hands together to try to restrain himself from fidgeting. "Well, we're snowed in. But… uhm… well, people will come and plow us out! Well, a-as soon as they can plow themselves out… Eh, and I do live on the outskirts of town, so… so they'll take a little bit longer getting to us… but… eh… we'll…" By now, Canada's voice had decreased to a whisper, now for himself realizing that they would probably be stuck in his house for a few days.

He nearly fainted from the thought. A few _days_? How was he ever going to survive? Most of these people didn't know who he was or simply didn't care. Now he was going to be forced to stay with all of them?

"How long are we gonna be here?" America complained, not even trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. "Your place is totally lame."

Canada did his best to manage a glare at his brother, though it only turned into a nervous frown. "Um… well… I don't know… A few days maybe?"

A barrage of shouts and complaints hit Canada all at once, almost knocking him over from their force. Why was everyone blaming him? Did they think he _wanted_ to be stuck in a house full of people who didn't like him? His shoulders slumped as he gripped his hands together tightly. He hated this.

"Guys, listen!" Canada called, but was once again drowned out by everyone's voices. God, he hated these people! They couldn't listen to anyone but themselves! They were so stupid, so inconsiderate, so rude! He felt his shoulders quivering with anger and wanted to start yelling. But if he yelled, he'd be the center of attention again. And he really didn't want that.

"Everyone, shut up!" France called again, sending another blush to Canada's face. Wow, France was being really nice today. However, his nerves returned as everyone returned their attention to him, all of their faces irritated. He took a deep breath as he tried to figure out how to get everyone settled.

"Okay," Canada said, clasping his hands together tighter. "There are nine of us. I have my bed and three spare beds. Um… I think that two people can fit to a bed, so…"

Japan suddenly began to listen. "I have to sreep with someone?!" he cried, looking horrified. "B-but, my personar space!"

Canada scratched his head awkwardly. "W-well, that's how it's going to have to work. Either that or five people are going to go without a bed." People began to argue, but Canada shushed them tiredly. "It's the best option, sorry. So… so everyone pick a sleeping partner." More arguments, but Canada just huffed. They just had to accept things as they were. It wasn't like he could do anything about it.

"I pick Germany!" Italy cried, hugging Germany around the middle. Obviously uncomfortable with the contact, Germany tried to push him away, but gave up as Italy only hugged him tighter. "Fine," was Germany's response, a small blush crossing his face. It wasn't like they didn't sleep together anyways—Italy always snuck into his bed in the middle of the night. Germany was just used to it by now.

Russia eyed China ominously, making the Asian country extremely nervous. Desperately looking around, his eyes landed on Japan. Their relationship had not been a great one, but he'd take Japan over Russia any day. "Aiyaa!" he screamed, running over to his younger brother. "Japan, aru! Please bed with me, aru!"

Japan looked at him bewildered, blood rushing up to his face. "N-no!" he said, shaking his head violently, his black hair flying from side to side. "That is compretery out of the question!"

China whimpered, grabbing on to Japan's sleeve. "Please, aru!" he begged, shaking in fear. "Please don't make me sleep with Russia, aru! I'm begging you, aru!"

Still not a huge fan of the idea, Japan gave a little sigh. It was probably going to cause some problems of its own, but he didn't blame his ancient brother for wanting to keep a safe distance from mysterious Russia. "Okay," he murmured, staring at the wall. "We can sreep together."

"Thank you, aru!" China said, proceeding to hug the smaller nation. This ended though as Japan shoved him off with a huge blush and quickly retreated from the room. He thought that at least China would know how much he hated it when others touched him. Apparently not.

England looked around, trying to decide who to share a bed with. So far, he really was not in favor of his options. The moment he laid eyes on Russia, he quickly moved on—no way was he going to sleep with the psycho commie. He'd probably break his head open with his pipe when no one was looking… or when everyone _was_ looking. He never knew what to expect from him. Next was France, to whom he sent an evil glare. Like hell he was going to sleep with him. Doing so would just be asking to be raped! Then he put his sights on America. He seemed to be looking around too, his face looking worried. England couldn't stand to be around America half the time, but, out of the options he had, America was by far the better one. So, with a huff, he punched America's arm, making the other jump. "What the hell, man?" he asked, looking annoyed.

"Sleep with me," England said matter-of-factly. However, as the words slipped out, he realized that they could be taken as something else. Something quite disgusting. He blushed slightly as he cleared his throat. "Er, I mean… share a bed with me, you bloody git."

America looked a little concerned with England's first phrasing, but he just shrugged it off. "Huh. Um, sure." He then smirked deviously. "I know I'm so incredibly sexy, so please don't try anything, 'kay Erotic Ambassador?"

England guffawed at this, blood rushing to his face. A few choked sounds escaped his throat until he was finally able to form actual words. "You damn git! I would never even _think_ of trying anything! God, you're an idiot!"

"Name's America, not God," America quipped with a wink. "I get how you're confused though; we _are_ pretty similar."

This only earned him another smack on his arm. "Idiot!"

Canada looked around the room, watching as everyone chose their bed mates. Even though everyone was fighting, he at least knew that they were figuring everything out. Hopefully after a while when everything was settled, it might be relatively calm. It was nice hope… but probably a hope that wasn't going to happen. He was about to try to call their attention again so he could show them the rooms when someone tapped his shoulder.

A little surprised, Canada turned to see who needed him. And blushed upon seeing France. Blood rushed up to his face for reasons still unknown to him. He stared at France for a moment, a little surprised by how he was looking at him; a look of fondness. A kind of fondness he hadn't given him since he was still just a small child, from before he was forced to become one of England's colonies.

It took a moment for him to realize that he had said absolutely nothing as he stared at France, which sent more of a blush to his cheeks. "U-uh… yeah?" he said clumsily. He was beginning to remember why he didn't like talking to people—he always felt so awkward around them.

"Well, I had a question," France said, sweeping his golden hair over his shoulder. "You see, I don't have a sleeping partner. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could I sleep with you?"

The thought almost made Canada's brain explode. France? Sleeping in the same bed as him? It wasn't that the idea disgusted him or anything; he wouldn't mind getting to spend some time with France—it _had_ been a long time since they had been able to be together last. But sleeping in the same bed… the thought had never occurred to him. It was so different, so foreign, so…

"Sure," Canada answered without thinking. He nearly started screaming as he realized that he had just agreed, and was about to correct himself. That is, until he saw the happiness on France's face.

"Ah_, merci, mon ami_!" he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Do not worry, I won't try to do anything to you." Then with a devious smirk, he added, "Well, of course, unless you _want_ me to. Ohonhon!"

Canada froze up, his face on fire. This was normal for France, being a creepy pervert—this was _normal_. It wasn't anything he had to be worried about. He shouldn't have been freaking out or anything—this was nothing special. It was France being France. Nothing else!

"Okay," he said blankly, feeling his legs lightly shaking beneath him. France was touching him. Why this simple little contact was making his knees go weak, he had no idea. Maybe it was just because he never got physical contact? Maybe it was because he wasn't used to people paying him attention to him whatsoever.

Maybe it was because he loved France.

With a startled jump and a cry of "MAPLE!" Canada smacked himself in the head, getting a slightly distressed look from France. What was he thinking, liking France? France probably had 25 lovers or something! He flirted with anything that had a heartbeat! Hell, he flirted with anything that had an orifice! Like he would even ever a chance with France!

He hit himself again, trying to get the thoughts out of his head. No, he didn't _want _a chance with France! He was fine just as he was now: being constantly ignored, no one paying attention to or caring about his existence, people always confusing him for America—I mean, who _wouldn't _want that life?

With a sigh, he quickly apologized to France for his odd behavior, and then called for everyone's attention. Quickly, he guided everyone to the guest rooms and let them pick a room. Another scuffle ensued as people tried to pick rooms, but after a while, everyone had entered their chosen rooms and the hall was near empty, Canada, France and Russia the only ones remaining. Canada, for a moment, felt sorry for Russia being left out. But as he thought about it, he didn't blame the other countries—Russia was pretty intimidating.

"Um, Russia," Canada said timidly, clutching his hands together. "I do have a couch if you want to sleep there. I'm not sure what I can do about a room, but…"

"No, it's fine!" Russia said happily, a serene smile on his face. "I'll manage!" Canada smiled back at him, happy that Russia wasn't angry at him for not having another room for him. He was about to thank him when Russia added, "Besides, I like hiding in halls and in the shadows! It's fun to scare people and then hit them in the face with my pipe! Oh, the surprise on their faces is always so funny!"

Canada made a silent note to himself to carry a flashlight with him from now on.

A loud bang came from one of the rooms, followed by a cry of, "_Bloody git!_" More hits and bangs were heard, followed by "Watch it, limey!" The two kept yelling until a loud German voice was heard yelling, "Shut up, or I will shoot both of you _dummkofps!_" The two kept fighting none the less, and a cry of "_Aiyaa!_" was heard from China in another room.

Canada head drooped as he give sad little hopeless chuckles. It was going to be a _long_ couple of da**ys…**

* * *

**Review~**


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a few hours since everyone had picked their rooms, so the atmosphere of the house had toned down a bit. There had only been a few outbursts of shouting, but after Germany had charged into England and America's room and nearly shot them both in the face, everyone had decided to calm down. By now, it was late evening, and people were about to start getting themselves ready to go to bed for the night. However, many countries had a horrible problem as this came about.

None of them had night clothes.

This little issue had caused yet another fight to break out amongst the countries. England was yelling about how it was already pushing it sleeping in the same bed as the damn git, but there was no way in hell he was going to sleep with him when he wasn't wearing anything besides boxers. America fired back saying he'd go blind looking at England naked because of how ghastly pale and pasty he was. England then began to once again lecture America on how he needed a diet, to which America retorted that he needed to stop trying to cook.

Japan and China weren't exactly fighting with each other, but they definitely weren't happy. Japan was going on about "taking responsibility" or something odd like that. No one could be sure of what he was saying because he was talking too fast for even Italy to comprehend. It appeared that the idea of having to sleep with a less-than-clothed China made his brain malfunction. China just complained that he'd get cold because he was used to the heat of his homeland.

Germany and Italy didn't seem to be too distressed about the whole thing. Apparently, Italy slept with Germany a lot because the small country felt safer with him. Germany added that he was lucky if Italy was wearing a pair of boxers when he jumped into bed with him. So the two of them stayed in their room while the rest of the countries were out complaining.

Russia didn't seem to mind either. He had plenty of layers, so he could manage with this problem. Basically, the only reason he was hanging around the other countries was to once again try to convince them that they wanted to become one with him. Which they didn't. At all.

Canada stood in his doorway, trying to figure out what to do. He supposed that he could lend some of his clothing to them, but he didn't really know if he trusted these people enough to do that. For all he knew, he'd give out his clothing and then never see it again! It wasn't like his clothing held a lot of value or special memories, but… they were still his. He really didn't want to lose them—clothing was starting to become expensive! But as he thought over the very few options he had, that seemed like the best one.

So, with a sigh, Canada tried to get their attention so that he could tell him the plan. However, by now England and America were in the middle of trying to strangle each other, which had taken the other countries' attention. Canada sighed, gripping the door frame hard in his hand. Really? They came here for him to try to solve a problem for them, and then ignore him? What was mentally wrong with these people?!

"Guys!" Canada called, but his smaller voice couldn't be heard over England's colorful plethora of cuss words—half of which Canada had never heard before. Frustrated, Canada hit his head against the door frame as if the pain would make him feel better. Surprisingly enough, it didn't at all. Now he had people ignoring him _and_ a slight head ache. Wonderful.

"You need help?"

Canada turned around to face France, an amused smile on his face. With another sigh, Canada nodded. No one was going to listen to him, so he would need France's help. Again.

"'ey! Love birds!" France called, making Canada jump, a panicked expression on his face. Why was he making fun of them? He didn't want to make them angry! Most of these people didn't like Canada in the first place, so he didn't need to give them an actually reason to dislike him. "Pay attention! You can release sexual tension later on tonight! Ohonhon!"

The comment made England and America even more pissed, and China had to hold Japan up as the smaller country suffered from a severe nosebleed. However, at least all of this brought attention to Canada at last. Before the countries could do anything else, Canada yelled, "Listen! Please!"

"Hey, Canadia!" America shot back, still refusing to stop trying to take down the Brit. "Can't you see me and Artie are in a fight? Can it wait?"

"Can't you see you're in the middle of my house?" Canada whimpered, trying to reason with him. "If you just listen, we can get this all figured out. Please?"

It took a few moments, but the Brit and the Yank calmed down enough to listen. Seeing as people were finally refocusing their attention on him, Canada spoke. "Okay, I have extra clothes… I guess I could lend some out as long as you promise to return them. But you do have to return them! Please!"

There was some arguing amongst the countries for a while, but they finally agreed to this. So, hoping that he would see them again, Canada handed out clothes for the night. Each time he handed out an article of clothing, he made sure to say that he wanted them back. But part of him just knew that he would only maybe get half of them back if he was lucky.

That problem solved, the countries retreated back into their rooms, Russia disappearing somewhere into the shadows, a few "kol kol"s audible as he slipped away. Canada also returned to his room and shut the door behind him. As it clicked, he yelled, "_Hosers!_" as he stomped his foot. Why did they all have to be so mean, so rude, so stupid?

Suddenly, Canada remembered France was in his room. And he was looking at him, smirking at his little temper tantrum. A huge blush crossed his face as he quickly looked away, running a hand through his hair. Why did France have to be here? He didn't want to act like an idiot in front of him!

"Maybe a good night's sleep will help everyone feel better," France soothed, flashing a smile at Canada. Canada gave a little nod, France's smile making him feel slightly light headed.

It suddenly hit Canada that he and France were going to use the same bed. They were going to sleep together. Next to each other. All night long. He couldn't decide whether he was more happy or nervous about it.

He just hoped that France would try to be… well, France.

x-x-x-x-x

England wasn't exactly a fan of the clothes that Canada had supplied him with, but he decided to wear them anyway. It wasn't ideal that he had to wear a Toronto Maple Leafs T-shirt or sweat pants that were far too big for him, but it was sure better than sleeping naked. Slowly, England crawled into bed, making sure to stay as close to the edge as possible. He wanted to keep as much space between himself and the stupid git as possible.

The door of the closet clicked as the door slightly opened. "Can I come out already?" America whined. "Why do I have to stay in here while you change? You know this isn't a walk-in closet, right? It's seriously crowded in here, dude!"

"We have to sleep together," England growled, crossing his arms in irritation. "We don't have to watch each other change."

"Who said I was going to be watching, perv?" America retorted. To which England just yelled at him even more.

After more cussing and yelling and insults, England said, "Yeah, just come out already if it will make you shut up."

"'Kay!" America chirped as he threw the door open. England had been expecting him to be wearing the clothes that Canada had lent him. But apparently the simple task had been too much for his idiotic brain to handle as he stepped out of the closet, the only thing on him now being a pair of boxers.

For a moment, England just stared at him, a little surprised that he was severely lacking clothing. Then, once it clicked that America was practically naked, blood rushed up to his face as he quickly turned around with a shriek. He had also forgotten that he was on the edge of the bed, only remembering this as he fell off said bed to the floor with an embarrassing 'thud!'

"Bloody hell!" England cried, jumping back up, both his arse and his ego bruised. "Why aren't you wearing clothes?!"

"Canada's don't fit me," America answered through a fit of laughter at England's behavior. "I'm more buff than he is!"

"More like fatter," England mumbled back, embarrassedly crawling back on the bed. However, as he quickly looked him over, he saw that his insult didn't hold much water anymore. America was by no means fat. He was actually surprisingly slim for all of the rubbish he ate. He had just the smallest bit of padding on his stomach and hips, but it was barely even noticeable. Hell, he even had a six-pack. He was in better shape that England was—not that the island nation would ever admit it though.

England meant to just glare at the American for his stupidity and inconsiderate actions, but he was suddenly finding that he couldn't stop looking at him. His finely tanned skin, the way his muscles were toned just enough to see them, but not so toned that he looked like a bodybuilder—somewhere in the middle; a perfect balance. His arms looked strong, but were long and limber at the same time. Then there were his legs that were strong and had certain curves to them that made England's eyes stick. His eyes shot up to America's face, and he nearly died—America was looking at him with a curious look.

"Are you… checking me out?"

With a huff, England quickly turned around—this time without falling off the bed. "Why the hell would I be checking you out, bloody git!"

America just laughed it off, making England more pissed. Why did he always have to laugh about everything? It was so bloody annoying! He was about to make a nasty comment when America jumped in the bed next to him, making England bounce on his side. "Why can't you get in bed like a normal person?!" England chastised, turning his head to glare at the American.

He just smirked. "Because normal is boring!"

England just glared at him for a moment, trying to put as much malice as he could into the look. He then turned back around and pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Go to sleep, git."

America just chuckled at him as he turned out the bedside lamp, sending the room into darkness. England tried to fall asleep so he could at least mentally escape this hell hole, but America prevented that from happening by talking. "Just so ya know," he said, "apparently I kick, snore, talk, twitch, and toss and turn in my sleep. So I might wake you up."

England groaned as he buried his face in his pillow. "Lovely," he murmured. "So you haven't grown out of any of that. Why am I not surprised?"

After a few more rude exchanges, the two finally silenced as they headed towards sleep. England was sure that America would have no trouble sleeping the whole night through. However, he was sure that he would be lucky if he got an hour of sleep tonight. From what he remembered of America when he was still just a small country, he had an amazing talent to kick him either in the spine or the balls— both of which he did plenty of during nights he'd been too afraid to sleep by himself. He just hoped that maybe, just maybe, America wouldn't do that tonight. But with America, he'd learned not to have too much hope—that was just asking for trouble.

"Goodnight, England," America said drearily, shuffling in the bed next to him. England looked over to him, a little surprised by the simple phrase. For some reason, the two words brought back memories of when America was a small child, of when they used to be so close, almost inseparable. Memories that were hundreds of years old.

England let his eyes flutter close again, taking in a deep breath as he let himself slowly fade. "Goodnight, America." Within a few minutes, the two nations were fast asleep.

x-x-x-x-x

By now, the two Asian nations had been in bed for a while. Unlike Western nations, China and Japan were fairly calm and mild tempered, making it quite easy for them to deal with each other. The two didn't move around much in the bed, Japan being almost as still a stone. Japan hated skin contact and being touched in general, so he stayed still as to not risk this. But even though he had stayed so still and stiff, it had taken him no time at all for him to fall asleep. China, on the other hand, was having much more trouble with this.

Much like Japan, China wasn't a person who really appreciated being touched. He remembered one time after England and France had taken him over after the Opium Wars, England had grabbed on to his arm. England never touched him again after China had smacked him in the face with his wok. He wasn't as bad as Japan who would faint at the mere thought of being touched, but he still avoided contact. However, at night when he was trying to sleep, it was a different story.

For as long as he could remember, China had always slept with his panda next to his side, occasionally petting it to comfort him. When other countries forced him to work for him, or were rude to him, or just didn't understand him, his panda would always be there for him, always willing to listen to his complaints. But, seeing as his panda was now across the Pacific Ocean thousands of miles away, his panda couldn't comfort him now. He didn't know how he was going to get to sleep without his cuddly panda!

Trying to replace his panda, China took the pillow from under his head and wrapped his arms around it. However, this didn't help all that much. The pillow was soft, but his panda was warm and had a heartbeat. The pillow just sat there and did nothing. This just would not do.

A sudden idea occurred to him. Carefully, China poked Japan to make sure that he was completely asleep. The slight pokes didn't make the Japanese man stir at all, making China smile. He had been like that when he was just a small country too. He was a heavy sleeper, the only way to wake him up at night being to have to violently shake him back to consciousness. Plus then he would begin to freak out because someone was touching him. China smiled at how easily his little brother got flustered at simple little human contact.

Hoping Japan would stay fast asleep, China slowly pulled his arm away from his body and brought it closer to him. It was nothing at all like his beloved panda, but it was at least warm and comforting. Wrapping his arms around Japan's arm, he immediately felt better and at home.

It wasn't perfect, but it was close enough. Within a few minutes, China finally fell asleep peacefully.

x-x-x-x-x

Germany was having a wonderful dream. He had finally conquered the world and people had stopped calling him a Nazi and had stopped blaming him for everything. However, he felt something poking his arm as all of this was going on. He tried to ignore whatever was poking him because he was watching someone punching Prussia in the face, and he really enjoying it. Prussia deserved every punch he got, the annoying bastard. However, apparently whatever was poking him really had something important to say as he finally gave up and woke up. Trying not to automatically maul whoever had just woke him up, Germany turned his head toward whatever was poking him. He gave a little sigh; Italy.

"What is it, Italy?" he mumbled, tempted to just hit Italy hard over the head to make him go to back to sleep. It had worked before, and it would work again.

"G-Germany." Italy complained, visibly shivering. "It's cold! I don't like this place, it's really cold and dark and cold and weird and cold and different and cold and everything smells like maple syrup, and it's cold, and…"

"Then find another blanket," Germany said, closing his eyes again. He hoped that his dream would start back up where it had stopped. However, Italy began poking him again.

"But Germany!" Italy whimpered, poking him even more. "I don't like this place, Germany! Please, I can't sleep! It's cold and I'm scared something's going to attack me! Please, can…" Italy paused, Germany hopeful that maybe he had finally given up. However, Italy continued, "Germany, can… can we… cuddle?"

Germany nearly exploded. "_Was_?!" he yelled, making the small Italian jump. "_Nein_! _Nein_, I don't want to cuddle, _dummkopf_!" He would have continued arguing but as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see Italy's saddened face.

Why did that face of his have to have such a huge influence on him?

With a sigh, Germany pushed back his fine blonde hair. "Fine," he said. "But it's only for toni—_oof_!" He wasn't able to finish his sentence as Italy nearly tackled him, wrapping his arms around him as he pressed his face against Germany's chest. Germany slightly cringed as he felt Italy's skin against his—he _was_ cold.

"_Grazie_, Germany," Italy murmured happily as he snuggled in closer. Germany felt his face heat up slightly, not exactly a fan of the contact and touching. But as Italy finally settled in, he very lightly laid a hand on the Italian's small waist. He was so close, Germany really had no other place to lay his hand. He most certainly didn't _want_ to do this, mind you. Italy had left him no choice from snuggling in so close. Italy's breathing slowed down, and within a few minutes, he was fast asleep.

Germany, however, was wide awake.

Italy and Germany had slept together more than he would like to admit. Italy always crept into his bed in the dead of night, and Germany had given up on trying to keep him out of his bed a long time ago. The small Italian had no skills in spying or trying to stay hidden, but somehow he was able to get into Germany's bed undetected. How did he do that? So with them sleeping together so often, Germany wasn't bugged by sharing his bed. But never before had they… _cuddled_. Just the thought of it made Germany uncomfortable—touching another person? He wasn't as concerned about his personal space as Japan was, but he was still rather fond of it. He liked to sit alone and be without people for long periods of time. But ever since he had met Italy, those few moments had been far and between. Italy was always there, always talking, always making odd noises and hand gestures…

Always trying to make Germany smile, always trying to help even if it ended up making things worse, always there to support him even if the cause was hopeless, always there with his laugh and smile that always made Germany feel like he truly belonged somewhere.

Germany paused to think for a moment, willing his mind to slow down so he could also go to sleep. If nothing else, he could try to better sort out his thoughts in the morning. He closed his eyes as he allowed his mind to think. Finally, his breathing also slowed as he faded off, his mind still trying and failing to decipher just what he felt for his small Italian. It was too much of a mystery for even him to solve in one night.

x-x-x-x-x

Canada stared up at the ceiling, unable to even try to go to sleep. His mind kept wandering frantically, unable to stop reminding him of that fact that France was in bed _right next to him_. He tried to seem natural, like his heart wasn't about to explode from the stress. However, he knew better than anyone else that he was an extremely terrible liar. He just had to hope that maybe France wouldn't catch on to his nervousness.

There was a slight tap on his shoulder, and Canada cursed himself as he nearly fell out of the bed as he jumped. He turned his head to see France looking at him, a bemused look on his face. "Are you okay, Canada?" he said, his small smirk barely visible in the dark.

"Yeah I'm okay why wouldn't you think I'm okay I'm perfectly okay I mean it's not like I'm freaking out that you're in my bed but I'm not freaking out because it's a bad thing I actually think I like you in my bed not to sound creepy okay actually that does sound a little creepy please don't be freaked out I mean if you freak out I'll freak out and I don't want to freak out and—"

He finally shut his stupid mouth as France laid a finger against his lips. "You are getting as bad as your brother," France mused, Canada hoping that he didn't feel his face warming under his touch. "I am guessing from the mass amount of words you just spewed out that you are uncomfortable."

"N-no!" Canada said, trying to relax. "I mean… m-maybe I'm a little… erm… nervous or… but… I mean…"

"If you want me to, I can leave," France offered. "I don't want to make you so panicked."

But of course this only served to make Canada more panicked. "N-no, I don't want you to leave!" The words left his mouth, and he began blushing even more. Too straightforward, _too straightforward!_ "I, I mean… I don't know where you'd sleep, and I don't know where Russia's sleeping." Oh God, he'd almost forgotten about the psycho country. "Plus he kind of scares me and I don't want you to get hit in the face with his pipe!"

In the darkness, Canada could see France raise an eyebrow. "Which 'pipe' are we talking about?" he asked with an "Oh hon hon!"

Canada stared at him for a moment, not getting what he meant. Then it hit him like a bulldozer as he felt his face furiously blush. "F-France!" he squeaked, giving the man a horrified look. "I… I mean… I don't want either to happen! I-I mean…" He blushed even more, and finally gave up as he buried his face in his pillows. He seriously didn't know how to deal with this guy.

He felt France's hand rub his back, making him give another surprised squeak. "_Mon dieu, _Canada," he chuckled, "you really do need to relax. I told you, I won't do anything to you. Unless you ask of course!"

Canada mumbled something unintelligible even to himself into his pillow. He heard France make a questioning hum, obviously curious about what he had said. Giving a sigh, Canada turned his head to look at France. And blushed.

Why was France looking at him like that? Why was he looking at him like he was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen? He was beginning to freak out, but as France continued to rub his back, his nerves finally began to relax. Canada gave out a slight hum, his mind suddenly beginning to calm down enough for him to begin to get drowsy. "That feels nice," he murmured, his eyes slipping closed.

France smiled knowingly. "You were easily frightened back when you were _un enfant_, but this always calmed you." He continued running his fingers along his back, Canada feeling himself edging unconsciousness.

"I remember, a little," he hummed, his breathing slowing down. He could remember France taking care of him when he was very little, France being loving and kind. But most of his memories of growing up were much different from those times. He frowned suddenly as those memories blotted out those of France. "England never… never did anything like that."

France's fingers hesitated for a moment, seeming to be taken aback by Canada's statement. For a second, Canada was worried that he had said something wrong. He was about to apologize—for what, he didn't know—when France laughed. "That is because Angelterre is a dick!"

Canada chuckled a little, then hummed in agreement. "Yeah. He was always mean to me… well, when he noticed me of course."

France continued to rub his back, Canada finally giving up and closing his eyes. Finally, he was truly glad that France was there. He had missed him so much—he was only beginning to realize how much it was that he had missed him. Missed his laugh, missed his hugs, missed carefree attitude and boisterous personality. Never had a moment with him been dull. He did truly miss that. He wished that he could have those days back.

Not sure if it was real or if he was finally asleep and dreaming, Canada felt something soft and gentle press against his forehead. He figured out they were lips as they spoke, saying, "_Bonsoir, mon Canada_."

Canada had never slept better than that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Japan woke up slowly, letting his consciousness resurface gradually as he took large, relaxed breaths. He had slept quite well for not being used to his surroundings, and especially for sharing a bed with someone else. It had worried him as he had been falling asleep the previous night, but it seemed like it had all worked out fine. China hadn't seemed to move that much during the night, so he had been able to sleep soundly without the fear of being touched or bumped while he was asleep. Now feeling awake enough, he went to move his arms to stretch out their stiff muscles.

One arm complied with this action. The arm closest to China, however, didn't. Curiously, Japan turned his head to see why his arm refused to move.

And saw a very content China cuddled up next to him, his face pressed against his elbow and holding his forearm and hand close to his chest.

For a moment, Japan just took in the sight, expecting him to wake up from this disturbing dream. This had to be a nightmare. China would never do such a thing as… as _cuddle up to him._ But as he didn't wake up and slowly realized that this was reality and not a dream, he threw his usual tranquility out the window.

"China!" Japan yelped, trying to shake the sleeping man off of his limb. "China, prease get off!"

The sleeping Asian murmured in his sleep, slightly tightening his grip on Japan's arm, only making him more distressed. "Stop moving, aru," China mumbled, his eyes refusing to open.

Japan didn't listen to this though as he pulled on his arm harder. "No, get off, China!" he whined, feeling like he was about to pass out from a mental breakdown. "Why are you cuddring with my arm? I rearry don't rike this, China! Ret go!"

China seemed to finally understand that Japan wasn't going to stop trying to get him off from his arm, so he drearily let him go as he opened his golden eyes and started pouting. "Why can't you just be quiet, aru?" China asked, beginning to roll over to his other side. "I was sleeping, aru."

"And you were touching me!" Japan argued back, sitting up. He calmed himself down, trying to become his normal calm self once again. After a few deep breaths and straightening out his clothes, he looked back down at China. "Why?" he finally asked. "Why were you cuddring rike that?"

China continued to mumble grumpily from being woken up so rudely, but he finally began speaking understandable words. "You were warm," he answered. "And soft, aru. I needed something to cuddle with, and you were just what I needed, aru."

Japan wasn't sure what he had been expecting as an answer, but that had definitely not been what he had been thinking of. China had needed to cuddle to sleep? And cuddling with him was what had made him able to sleep?

"Werr, maybe if you had asked," Japan murmured to himself, feeling his face slightly heat up.

"_Shénme_?"

Japan didn't answer as he got up. He needed to walk around now—he had had far too much excitement this morning. He hoped that the rest of today would be calm as to keep his nerves from becoming frayed. But knowing that the house was full of rambunctious countries, he didn't get his hopes up too high.

China continued to lay in bed, his eyes closed as he decided to continue sleeping for a while longer. As he faded off, a smile was placed on his lips. He had heard exactly what Japan had said—he just felt like messing with the younger nation a little bit. He had to admit, even with all that he had done to him in the past, Japan was nearly as cute as his Hello Kitty doll when he was flustered.

Not that he'd ever let him know that of course.

x-x-x-x-x

Germany's internal clock was trying to convince him that it was time to wake up, but his body seemed to refuse to obey it as he continued to attempt sleep. His neck was somewhat stiff, so to try to become more comfortable, he turned his head to relieve the pressure. Something brushed against his face, but he didn't mind at first. It was warm and soft and almost even welcoming. He even found himself nuzzling against the warmth, continuing this until he felt his lips run up against something. Whatever it was, it was also soft and warm, but… something felt a little off.

Finally, the German opened his eyes to investigate just what it was that was this close to his face.

Right in front of his blue eyes were auburn ones, and a quick glance down showed that his lips were against another pair of them.

His lips were against Italy's.

They were kissing.

And Italy was awake.

Far too awake.

"_Buongiorno, _Germany!" Italy chirped, making the situation even more real as his lips moved against Germany's. "How are—?"

"_Mein Kampf!"_Germany cried, jumping back as his eyes widened. Why the hell were they so close like that? Why were Italy's lips so close to his? Why was Italy not at all disturbed from what had just happened? "Why?" he blathered, pushing his blond hair out of his face. "Why are you so close?"

Italy looked at him curiously, tilting his head to the side. "Remember, Germany?" he asked innocently. "It was cold last night and you said that we could cuddle!"

The events from last night came back to Germany's mind, though that didn't make the present situation much better. "Why were you right next to my face?" he asked, feeling his face still heated up from what had just happened.

Italy paused, continuing to look at him. "Because you're warm!" he said as if it was simplest answer in the world. But really, to normal people, it wasn't. Germany continued to stare at Italy as if he stared for long enough, all of the questions he'd ever had about the unreadable Italian would somehow reveal themselves. But after a few moments of this, all it did was seem to make Italy worried. "Germany?" he asked, edging closer to him, his movements making his curl bounce. "What's wrong?"

On instinct, Germany backed away, trying to keep an equal amount of distance between them. "Do you even realize what just happened?" he asked, amazed by the Italian's naivety sometimes.

Italy looked at him now with an equally confused look. "You kissed me," he stated. "So?"

Germany's heart, which had already been going at a rapid pace, started beating even faster. Italy knew just what had happened; so why did he talk about it so nonchalantly as if such things were normal?

"So?" Germany repeated, inwardly cringing as he heard his voice ever so slightly crack. "_So?_ Italy, kissing isn't something people just do! It's something… something that only… only two people who… erm…" The more he tried to explain just who should kiss, the more awkward he felt. How were you to explain this to someone? He had never met a person who had not understood these kinds of boundaries, and had therefore never thought of a proper way to explain it. He thought he would never have to.

"Kissing happens between two people who are very close," Italy finished, a smile still on his face.

Germany stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. "Um… well, yes, but—"

"Like people who are always around each other."

"J-ja, but…"

"And people who sleep in the same bed together on a regular basis."

"Er… j-ja… But, Italy—"

"Or people who just make each other feel happy no matter what!"

Germany really did not like where this was going. "Italy, kissing happens between two people who love each other. Not friends."

Italy stared at him for a few moments, finally not having an immediate comeback. His expression showed that he was trying to come up with something else to say, but it took a few more seconds of silence until Italy finally replied, "But Germany! I love you!"

For another moment, Germany just stared at him, thoughts not quite making their way through his head. But finally, he hit his forehead with his palm. "Italy," he mumbled, still with face in palm, "you don't know what you're saying. And even if you did, I don't like you that way. Just don't do that again. It's not appropriate."

Germany didn't look up to see Italy's reaction, but after knowing the Italian for a long time, he knew that total silences were never a good thing. Once the silence lasted a few seconds too long, he looked up to see what the matter was with Italy.

He had seen many expressions on his face before: had seen tears running down his face, had seen him crying and begging for mercy; had seen him constantly happy for the silliest of reasons. But this had to be the very first time that he had ever seen Italy _frown_. "Not appropriate?" he repeated, the words actually sounding cold. Before Germany could reply, the Italian jumped out of bed. "Oh, _mi scuso!_ I had no idea it was so _inappropriate_. I really don't know what I'm talking about, do I?"

Germany actually felt his jaw drop. Was… was Italy _angry_? "Italy?" he said cautiously.

Italy turned around and flashed a smile at Germany—a painfully obviously _forced_ smile. "I'm going to go get dressed!" Italy chirped as he grabbed up his clothes from the previous day. "Because I certainly don't want to be _inappropriate!_"

Without another word, the small Italian skipped out of the room happily, slamming the door behind him very _un_happily. Germany was just left to stare at the door to wonder just what he had created—an angry Italy. He had never thought he'd live to see the day. And now that it was here, he was fairly sure that he didn't like it nearly as much as he thought he would.

x-x-x-x-x

England had been rudely woken up at least ten times by the idiotic American he was sharing his bed with. One time the covers had been completely pulled away from him, leaving him feeling cold and vulnerable. Another time, America had in fact succeeded in once again finding the middle of England's spine with his knee, sending the Brit nearly to tears from the pain. It had taken him almost fifteen minutes to be able to actually move without being in excruciating pain. And one time, England had even found himself completely pushed off of the bed, landing on the hard floor face first. And somehow during all of these instances, America had not woken up once.

There was now daylight visible, and England had gotten at most a whole two hours of sleep—if he was lucky. He was on edge and getting ready to face the consequences of murder. However, he decided to try to still have hope about getting some sleep. He took in deep breaths as he closed his eyes, his mind being so tired that he could already feel himself quickly drifting away.

However, this didn't last long as all of the air rushed out of his lungs upon America's arm throwing itself over his stomach.

"_Goddammit!_" he yelled, his last nerve finally snapping. He grabbed America's wrist and threw his arm back to where it came from, not caring where he sent it as long as it was _away_. Though he definitely did not have any objections as he watched America unintentionally hit himself in the face.

"What the hell?!" America yelped, jumping awake and looking very confused. "Did you just make me hit myself? Da fuq?"

England glared at him, barely able to keep himself from shaking with frustration. "Do you have any bloody idea what you've been putting me through all night?!"

America looked at the Brit with a confused look which only proved to make him even more pissed off. "All bloody night long, you've been hitting me and shoving me and tearing the sheets from me! And you've been sleeping all nicely while putting me through a bloody nightmare! I honestly haven't a clue as to how you sleep at night! You're constantly moving and talking and all this other bloody nonsense! You're just lucky I haven't snapped your neck by now, because believe me, I have been tempted to just murder you! If you weren't a past colony and I disliked you just a bit more, I would have grabbed a knife, ripped you open, taken out your entrails and—!"

"Jesus Louisus, dude!" America interjected, holding his hands up defensively. "Seriously, man, you don't need to go all Jack the Ripper on me. I move a lot in my sleep! I warned you!" Somehow in the American's brain, he seemed to think that reaching over to give the Brit a hug was going to make everything better. This was a really bad choice on his part. Before the American knew what was going on, England took ahold of his wrists and shoved him down against the bed, the younger man giving a yelp in surprise.

"You shoved me out of bed!" England screeched at him, feeling some slight joy at seeing America frightened of him. "You did all this horrible rubbish in your sleep, and you're an adult! When you were a child, it was annoying, but acceptable! But now; now it's just damn annoying! You're even more annoying than the Frog! You need to grow up and act your age! Or else I swear—"

"I get nervous when I sleep in places I'm not used to!" America squeaked, squirming beneath him uncomfortably. "I don't usually toss and turn that much! I'm just not used to sleeping here! I'm real sorry, England!"

England glared down at him, still not feeling forgiving enough to release him. "Apologizing isn't going to help me get more than two hours of sleep last night," he growled.

"Well, you could have woken me up and told me!" America whimpered, still trying to wriggle out of England's grasp. "I didn't know I was moving around that much!"

"I _did_ try to wake you up!" England hissed, holding onto America's wrists tighter and edging in closer to the American's face. "I even shoved you across the bed because you shoved me off! And you didn't even wake up a little!"

For some reason, America was blushing furiously as he continued to squirm. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, averting his eyes as if not sure where to look. "Can… can you please get off of me?"

For a moment, England just stared down at him, completely confused as to why he was acting so flustered. However, two things happened at once: one, he looked down to see that, somehow in his blind rage, he had straddled America's hips with his legs, holding the younger country in place below him. To add to this, America was still only in boxers—his boxers that weren't doing a very good job at hiding America's early morning problem.

And two, before he could move from their suggestive position, the door to their room opened.

England swung his head to see who had just walked in, and felt his whole body clench when he saw Italy staring right back at him. For a fraction of a second, Italy looked irritated (which was something that England had never even seen before), but his expression quickly changed to beet red and embarrassed. "V-ve!" he choked as he immediately began to back out of the room. "Oh, I, I'm sorry! I, uh, h-heard yelling, but… I d-didn't mean to interrupt!"

_Oh bloody hell_. "Ah, n-no! It's not what you think!" England blurted. He desperately wanted to move, but it seemed that the shock of the situation made him completely paralyzed. Before he could do anything else to convince Italy of this, the small Italian quickly retreated from the room and shut the door behind him, his footsteps audible as England could hear him running away down the hall.

Horrible fears and shame overcame England, feeling like he was about to throw up. Italy had run away! Knowing the blabbermouth Italian, he was sure that word of this was going to get out to everyone. He remembered when he had interrogated him once, and he had revealed everything he knew about Germany—most of which England wished that he could forget. He had never been able to look at Germany the same way again afterwards. So what if Italy did that to him this time? What if everyone thought that something vulgar had happened between him and America? God, he'd never hear the end of it! What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed—?

"Get _off_!" Before England knew just what was happening, he found the room was blurring around him as he flew into the air, hit the ceiling, bounced off from it, then fell down and ran into the floor. When everything stopped spinning and he could begin to feel something other than pain, he was amazed that he was still both alive _and _conscious. Though he very much did not want to be as he now had a huge body ache. He heard something hit the floor and his head seemed to vibrate as someone—America—ran towards him. "Aw crap! E-England, I'm sorry! I forgot to control my strength! I'm so, so sor—!"

"Please stop talking," England murmured as he slowly pushed himself up. He felt like his arms could barely support him, and he was finding himself being very dizzy from the two impacts had had just been through. He was going to further scold America, but he was too busy focusing on trying to make his arms stop their quivering from his own weight.

"_Shiiiiit," _America whined. England didn't look up to see what he was doing, but he could mentally see him fiddling with his hands nervously as he frantically looked around for something to do. England was about to just give up and maybe even take a nice nap on the floor when he felt America's arms as they scooped him up from the floor.

Needless to say, England wasn't in the mood for America trying to be a hero. "Put me _down_!" he hissed, pounding a fist against his chest. "Put me bloody down _now_, you damn git!" However, as he hit his chest, he was once again reminded how America was nearly naked. Blood rushed to his face was he realized that he was pressed against his bare chest as the American held him up as if he weighed nothing. "J-just…" he murmured, his thoughts straying before he could stop them. "Put me down. Please."

He felt America's eyes on him as if him saying please was as rare as seeing a five-legged unicorn. But after a moment, he complied as he set England down on the bed in so he was sitting upright. England was still dizzy, but now it was due to other reasons besides being hit a few too many times. "You okay?" America asked, squatting down to be on eye level with him.

However, squatting in boxers only made England blush even more. "Can you please do us both a favor and put on some bleeding pants?" he grumbled, looking away so his eyes wouldn't accidentally wander.

America cocked his head curiously, seeming to not understand why it was such a huge problem for England. To be honest, England didn't understand why it was such a huge issue for him either. For some inexplicable reason, the idea of looking at America in so little clothing was too much for his mind to handle. Finally, America said, "No."

England tensed then looked at the American. Why was he refusing to put on pants? Was it such a huge feat for him to put on bloody clothes? Or was it that…

_Oh God,_ England cursed at himself, feeling his face only heat up more. _No, don't go there. No, he doesn't want to molest you or… or seduce you. No. And you definitely don't _want _him to either! Of course you don't._ But his inner argument with himself didn't seem to be going in his favor. "Why the hell not?" he asked. He tried to sound rough and angry, but it just came out raspy and nervous sounding.

"I'm not gonna leave until I know you're okay."

England just sat still for a moment, the words taking their time to translate in his head. America wanted to make sure he was okay before anything else. He may not have agreed with the American on many things, but after all was said and done, the idiot still cared about people way too much.

Though his idiocy was quite endearing.

"Yes, I'm fine," England answered, shifting his eyes carefully just to look America in the eyes. "You don't have to worry about me. I've been through much worse… though that was the first time I've been thrown into the ceiling, I'll give you that."

America slapped his hand against his forehead, giving a groan. "God, I'm so sorry. You were just kinda really freaking me out, and I forgot to control my strength. I'm just glad I didn't throw you _through_ the ceiling… I'd feel even worse, and then I'd have to explain it to Canadia, and that just would suck."

England allowed himself to chuckle slightly, joining America in lightly smacking his head. "I told you it's fine," he said. "Now, you know I'm okay. So please go get dressed."

America smiled, then quickly ruffled England's already wild hair. "Sure, whatever, dude!" Before England got another chance to hit him, America stood up straight and darted toward the closet to fetch his clothes. England just glared at him as he closed the closet behind him to change like he had the previous night.

The man was utterly annoying. But, once all was said and done, he was also just as charming.

Only when he wanted to be of course.

x-x-x-x-x

The first thing that Canada was aware of when he woke up was the arm thrown over his back.

Memories from last night slowly came back to his mind; he had been extremely nervous about sharing his bed. France had laughed lightly at him and rubbed his back to calm him. Rubbing his back had succeeded in calming him, and he had fallen asleep. But it seemed that, after he had fallen asleep, France had neglected to remove his hand. His hand that had somehow managed to creep over his back so his arm was slung over his back.

Slowly, Canada opened his eyes to further inspect what his entire predicament was.

France's face was facing his own just a few inches away. Somehow, even though Canada jumped and half-screamed, France continued to sleep soundly. Canada, though, was very much wide awake now.

_What do I do what do I do what do I do?! _Canada, with his shy nature, didn't want to wake up the Frenchman—he seemed to be sleeping quite peacefully. But also because of his shy nature, he was horrified that someone was touching him and that he was trapped from escaping. What if France was upset that he woke him up? What if he got offended that he was freaking out about this? A small whimper escaped him, his stomach churning with fear and anxiety—what was he supposed to do?

Screaming had not bugged France one bit. But somehow, his tiny whimper had woken him up. His blue eyes fluttered open, a small smile crossing his lips. "_Bonjour,_ _mon Canada," _he hummed, his voice still soft and low from sleep. "_Ça va?"_

_How are you_? Couldn't France tell by how flustered and panicked he looked? Was he just an idiot? Or… More blood crept up to his cheeks—was he just toying with him? "_Je vais bien_," he answered quickly, still unable to move. "Ah… _Je veux dire... non, je suis ... Je..._"

How had he suddenly forgotten the entirety of both the English _and_ French language? Another small whimper escaped him as he was rendered unable to speak. Not able to think of a better solution, Canada resorted to just burying his face in his pillow. Maybe the whole idea of "If I can't see what's happening, it's not really happening" had some truth to it.

France gave out a small chuckle, and Canada flinched slightly as his hand found the small of his back as he rubbed soothing circles into his tensed muscles. "_Ne sois pas si énervé, mon petit Matthieu_," France cooed, continuing to rub the Canadian's back kindly. Canada was still nervous about everything, but France knew his weakness when his back was massaged like this. Against his will, he began to relax.

That is, until, France's hand just so happened to slip beneath his shirt. He gave out a sudden squeak, quickly coming back to his senses. Before he knew it, he found himself out of the bed, feeling dizzy from how fast he had jumped up. He felt his shoulders slightly quivering, his hands clutching his upper arms to try to stop himself from his shaking. "I… I…need to go check on everyone," he sputtered, turning around to fetch clothes from his closet.

His heart hammered in his chest as he threw open his closet and mouthed to himself how stupid he was. Why did he have to be so awkward around other people? Why couldn't he have more social skills so he wouldn't freak out when these things happened? He tried to reassure himself, saying in his head that France did this to everyone—he wasn't anything special. He shouldn't be so panicked about this.

However, even as he tried to calm himself, he nearly screamed when the words, "_Quel est le problème, mon chère?" _were said into his ear. He would have run away, but hands that placed themselves on his hips stopped him from moving. "_Voulez-vous me pour vous aider à vous détendre?" _France asked, his lips right against the shell of the Canadian's ear.

Canada froze, his eyes staring forward as his lungs forgot just how to work properly. "E-eh," he gasped, his hands visibly shaking, "Ah… F-France. Please… I…"

"_Oui?"_ France whispered, Canada giving a small shiver as his breath danced across his skin.

"I…" His breath caught in his throat as France's hands traveled ever so slightly towards the center of his hips. "France, you're scaring me."

France's hands suddenly tensed, their movements stopping completely. Canada continued to stare forward at nothing in particular, completely unsure of what was going to happen next. After another moment, Canada was able to once again breathe properly as France retreated. "_Pardonnez-moi,"_ France said, his voice sounding slightly off. "Excuse me," he reiterated, his voice sounding farther off, coming now from the other side of the other room. "I'm sorry."

Canada had now gone from being panicked about being touched to panicked about France never coming near him again. He gave out a shaky breath, bracing himself as he turned around. He felt his stomach drop as he saw France at the door, looking like he was about to leave. "Ah, France!" he squeaked as he ran after him. "F-France!"

France looked up from the door, a small, fake smile on his face. "Yes, Canada?"

His stomach churned as Canada realized that France had called him just Canada instead of 'mon Canada.' Had he upset him that much? "Please," he said, his voice quieter and higher pitched than usual. "I… Don't just leave. I didn't mean to upset you. I… I get nervous easily, and I'm not used to people paying attention to me, and having someone suddenly notice me and… and t-touch me…" He felt his shoulders once again quivering, his eyes focused on the ground as he felt the beginning of tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. "I… I just got scared. I'm sorry."

For a few moments, all that was heard was silence. Canada was horrified that he was going to hear the door open as France left, or that they were just going to continue standing in silence. He was even more scared about France actually talking and then becoming angry at Canada for what he had said. He kept his eyes focused on the ground, waiting for whatever to happen. He was able to keep his flinch hidden as he felt France's hand place itself gently on his shoulder, lightly gripping it in a soothing manner. However, he wasn't able to stop the slight flinch when another hand cupped his cheek as his blond hair was softly brushed back behind his ear. His eyes finally looked up to see France smiling down at him. "_Mon précieux Canada_," he murmured, his thumb tracing the outline of Canada's cheekbone. "_Mon chère_, I would never do anything to hurt you. You are too valuable a person to me to ever make me want to hurt you."

Canada could hear his heartbeat rush through his ears, and felt like his throat was constricting, letting little air pass through. He felt himself grow nervous, but he didn't back away. "France?" he whispered, his eyes unable to move from France's deep blue ones.

France's face crept a little closer, Canada unable to move away. "_Oui, l'amour?_" he murmured, the hand on his shoulder slipping up his neck, making the Canadian shiver.

All Canada could hear was his own breaths, his own heartbeat. Everything else faded into silence. All he could see were the blue eyes looking back into his own. A word tumbled from his mouth before he could stop it. _"Baiser_...?"

France smiled deviously. "_Si vous le souhaitez_," he hummed, his face suddenly only a little over an inch away. A slightly strangled breath made its way through Canada's throat. Letting everything go, he let his eyes close.

And quickly reopened them when he heard a scream.

x-x-x-x-x

**Translations:**

Shénme? – Chinese; "What?"

Buongiorno – Italian; "Good morning."

Mi scuso! – Italian; "I'm sorry!"

Ça va? – French; "How are you?" (It's informal. I imagine France being informal/friendly with Canada and other, while Canada is formal and shy with others)

Je vais bien – French; "I'm fine."

Je veux dire... non, je suis ... Je… - French; "I mean…no, I'm… I…"

Ne sois pas si énervé, mon petit Matthieu – French; "Do not be so upset, my little Matthew."

Quel est le problème, mon chère? – French; "What is wrong, my dear?"

Voulez-vous me pour vous aider à vous détendre? – French; "Do you want me to help you relax?"

Pardonnez-moi – French; "Forgive me."

Mon précieux Canada – French; "My precious Canada."


	4. Chapter 4

Germany had finally come back to his senses a few minutes after Italy had left the room in anger. After giving his head a quick shake, he quickly got out of bed and also began to dress himself. He figured that later on once the Italian had calmed down, he would apologize and try to make everything better. He definitely did not want to have an angry Italian to deal with now that he had seen one. Not only was it intimidating, but he really didn't want to have to deal with a sassy Italy. He was already enough trouble as it was; he didn't need to have an Italy with enough backbone to actually talk back.

About half-way dressed, he had been about to pull on his shirt when he heard a scream. A very familiar scream. One he had heard too many times for him to not recognize immediately.

Italy.

Still topless, he burst out of the room with a loud bang as the door hit the wall. "_Italy!" _he roared, rushing through the hall to the source of the scream. The sound led him to the living room, running through the entranceway at a speed he couldn't even remember running at ever before—not even when he had been running for his own life. As he entered the room, he immediately saw Italy. Italy who was in Russia's death hug.

"Become one with me, da?" Russia sang, swinging back and forth as he kept Italy captive in his arms with his toes barely touching the floor. Italy looked like he was about to pass out from fright, his auburn eyes wide open, his mouth still agape in a silent scream. After a moment, Russia looked up and spotted Germany. He simply gave an innocent smile. "You want to become one with me too, da?"

"Hell no," Germany hissed, quickly advancing on him. "Let Italy go. Now."

Russia stood still for a moment, watching as the angry German came closer to him. However, his smile just widened. "Nyet. I don't think I will. He's so cute and helpless! Maybe he could become a Baltic State as well? We'd have so much fun together!"

"I'll kill you if you do anything to him," Germany growled. To prove his point, he went to pull his pistol out of his holster. However, pulling a pistol out from a holster is extremely difficult when there is no pistol to be used. Germany glanced down at his hip to see where his holster should be, but saw nothing. He must have left it on the bed with the rest of his clothing. "_Verdammt,"_ he hissed, returning his glare to Russia. "Well, I guess I'll just have to settle for killing you with my bare hands."

"Sounds fun!" Russia chirped. "I'd like to see you t—"

"No!"

Both Russia and Germany jumped at Italy's outburst. They both looked at him as Italy seemed to come back to his senses.

"Don't hurt him, Germany," Italy said, sticking out his bottom lip. "I don't want you to do anything _inappropriate!_"

Germany deadpanned. _Was der fick? _"Italy," Germany groaned, trying his hardest not to give a murderous glare to the same person he was trying to rescue. "Please, can we not go on that again?"

"But killing is _inappropriate!_" Italy protested, beginning to look far too much like Romano—so much to the point Germany nearly wanted to strangle him. "I mean, killing really hasn't ever solved any of your problems! Just look at World War Two!"

Oh, he had not just gone there. Germany growled as he bared his teeth. "Italy, just shut up and go back to being a defenseless coward like usual. At least then I can actually put up with you."

Even Russia looked confused. He looked from Italy to Germany, and then back down to Italy. "Wow," he said, "I never thought he could be angry! Just what did you do to make him so upset?"

"He's just overreacting," Germany answered, feeling rather irritated. He was about to say more on the matter when Italy decided otherwise.

"_Overreacting?!"_ Italy nigh on screeched, making Russia actually flinch while Germany covered his ears. "I am _not_ overreacting! I finally make an actual move on you, and you totally reject me! I swear, sometimes you're even stupider than I am!"

Everyone went quiet for a moment, no one making a single movement. Germany felt his mouth gaping open, the words still processing in his head. _He… made a move on me?_ However, his thought process was interrupted when behind him, Germany heard an obnoxious voice sing, "_Awkwaaaard…"_

Germany swung around and felt his face blanch as he saw all of the nations in the doorway, all with curious and slightly uncomfortable expressions on their faces. America was the one who had brought attention to them, so like the true courageous hero he was, he panicked and hid behind the rest of the countries, gaining a disapproving look from the Brit who had been next to him.

"I don't think I want an angry Italy to become one with me," Russia said, still smiling, though also looking the slightest bit uncomfortable. "I'll leave you two be. You can become one with me later." With that, he released the Italian and conveniently drifted off somewhere else.

"And I'll just be not here," America added quickly as he could be heard running off.

"For once, he can read the atmosphere," England commented as he also left the room.

"Ohon hon, this room is drowning with sexual tension!"

"I sense the mood, and it's terring me to reave."

"Me too, aru."

Slowly, the doorway emptied as the countries left to give Germany and Italy space. None of them had ever seen Italy angry before, so it was understandable that they wanted to get away from the situation as fast as possible. It was an understood fact that an angry Italy was a sure sign of the apocalypse—it just didn't happen unless something was extremely wrong. Therefore, it was best to just try and make everything better as soon as possible. Even though he knew he should stay and try to calm Italy, Germany very much wanted to leave too. But he knew that it would be better to try to resolve the problem now instead of waiting and letting it get worse. Besides, the way that Italy was glaring at him told him that if he even attempted to leave, he just might not live to tell the tale.

Italy crossed his arms as he took a few steps closer to the German. "Tell me," he said, his face looking scarily happy, "straight to my face that you feel nothing for me."

Feeling uncharacteristically nervous, Germany did his best to keep a straight face. "I feel—"

"But first!" Italy interjected, taking another step closer. "Tell me why you never kick me out of your bed."

Blood rushed up to Germany's face, but he kept a straight expression. He had no reason to be intimidated by Italy. "Because… it takes too much effort to keep you out. I just got used to you sleeping in the same bed."

"Got used to it," Italy repeated, refusing to break eye contact. "So, what would you do if I just suddenly stopped sleeping in your bed?"

Germany opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came. What _would_ he do if Italy just one day was not in his bed? What if he woke up and the Italian was nowhere to be seen? "I…I'd be… worried," he answered simply.

A small look of adoration flashed across his face, but Italy quickly replaced it with an unimpressed look. "And why would you be worried?" he asked. "What if you found out I'd slept in France's bed inste—"

"_I'd kill that bastard_."

His answer came out before he had even realized what it was. He stared forward for a moment, thinking over what he had just said. He thought of correcting himself, but as he thought about it, he realized that he really would kill France if he found Italy in his bed. He inwardly shuddered at all of the horrible things that he might do to his poor, innocent Italy.

Suddenly, Germany stopped dead in the tracks of his thoughts—_his_ Italy? Had he really just thought of him as _his_ Italy? He growled at himself in frustration, nowhere even close to admitting he was at all confused about his feelings. Because he wasn't. He couldn't be.

Italy took a few steps closer to him, quickly being just a bit too close. "What if I liked France's bed?" he asked, edging his face closer to the German's. "What if I liked France? What would you do then?"

_Cry. Beg. Yell. Kick. Destroy. Kill. _"I'd be…" _Angry. Depressed. Suicidal. Murderous. _"Upset."

Another step closer. Germany could feel Italy's breath on his skin. He'd only have to move his hand a few inches and they could be touching. "Would you be…_jealous_?"

"Are you guys done yet?"

Germany eagerly took the opportunity to back away as he once again looked behind him at the doorway. America was there once again, looking like a pouting child. "I'm, like, super hungry, and we totally don't wanna come out here if you guys are fighting."

Italy gave a little huff and seemed to revert back to his normal state. "_Stupido Americano,"_ he mumbled as he picked up his things that he had dropped from his encounter with Russia.

"Dude, I can totally understand your Spanglish, amigo!" America chided, sticking out his bottom lip.

Germany and Italy face-palmed at the same time. Neither took the effort to try to correct the American—that was just a lost cause in itself.

x-x-x-x-x

The countries had slowly gathered into the kitchen, most trying not to make eye contact with a certain German or Italian. Everyone seemed to still be sleepy from last night, the worst definitely being England. When he had walked into the kitchen, America had kept on trying to help him stop swaying, but he only swatted him away, not helping his balance very much. Japan and China looked well rested, though Japan could be seen sending curious glances over to the Chinese man as if he was expecting to suddenly be attacked by him. Italy looked quite happy, but he had not spoken a single word to Germany since people had come out. He had mostly been speaking to Japan, his back turned towards the German at all times—which had distressed China seeing as this left him open to Russia who was very slowly closing in on him. Germany put a face on that was trying to say that he wasn't upset by this at all. However, his blue eyes constantly flicking over to the Italian said otherwise.

Canada stood at his fridge, looking at its contents, trying to figure out if he had enough food to feed everyone. He didn't have a huge amount of food—he was the only one who lived here, and people never visited him. A small sigh escaped him as he saw that there was most certainly not enough food to go around. He cringed, knowing that America was included in the group. The amount that he alone would eat could probably feed the others. What was he supposed to do?

Even though he should probably be used to it by now, a small squeak still escaped him as he felt a familiar arm snake around his waist. France's chin nuzzled his temple, sending a blush up to his face. "Any ideas, _amour?_" he asked, his hand resting comfortable on his hip.

"E-eh?" Canada asked nervously, glancing down at France's hand. "Um… I… Not really," he answered weakly. "I don't have enough food…"

"Then we can make some more!" France suggested, giving the Canadian's hip a squeeze which was quickly rewarded with a squeak. "Surely you have baking supplies!"

Gently, Canada removed France's hand from his person. "Y-yes I do," he answered, walking over to where said supplies were. "But… I can't make all of this food by myself… there's so many people…"

France gave a laugh, his hand lightly ruffling Canada's blond locks. "_Matthieu_! You forget who you are talking to!" Without hesitation, France cut in front of him, more or less shooing him away. "I will take care of our breakfast! It will be _magnifique_!"

Canada made a few weak attempts to get France away from the cooking supplies—he was a guest after all, he shouldn't have to cook—but in the end, he gave up. France was already far too excited about cooking. Plus he not-so-subtly mentioned how he wanted to rub his cooking into a certain Brit's face. Seeing as he once again wasn't going to win this fight (or any fight for that matter), he retreated as he headed towards the other waiting countries.

"Everyone!" he called, trying to get their attention. "Food's being made, but we need to wait while—"

"Food?!" America chirped, jumping up to his feet, nearly toppling the Brit next to him who began to swear profusely. "Dude, where? I'm starving!"

Giving a frustrated sigh, Canada rubbed his palm against a closed eye. "It's being made. It won't be ready for a while. So we should go to another room and wait while France cooks."

"France?" England asked, his brows furrowing. "Like hell I'm going to eat his damn frog food! You'll have to shove it down my throat!"

"_Gladly!"_ France called gleefully from the stove, Canada tensing his shoulders. England made a choking noise in the back of his throat, looking like he was about to go murder the Frenchman. Canada gave a sigh—why did France find it necessary to make others irritated?

"Please, let's just go to the other room," the Canadian pleaded, already feeling a headache coming on. He didn't understand why nations couldn't act more like adults—they dealt with debt, wars and politics, yet still had the maturity of four year-olds.

Slowly, the other countries finally began to comply as they wandered into the living room, Canada all the while trying to think of what to do. He wanted to be a good host, but he didn't know how to keep them all entertained. Seeing as they barely noticed his existence most of the time, he didn't quite know how to keep them happy while they waited.

However, he didn't have to think for too long. As the countries gathered in the living room, America once again started blathering. "Hey, I have an idea! But only people who actually have balls can play!" He laughed at his own joke, ignoring the lack of other people laughing. "But seriously, we should play this little game called Seven Minutes in Heaven!"

"Hell no!" England yelled, glaring at the American. "I will not play such a stupid, immature game!"

"Ve?" Italy hummed, looking at America curiously. "What game is that? Does it have pasta? Seven minutes of pasta?"

"Nah, pasta's totally lame!" America laughed, not seeming to notice the horror on the Italian's face to hearing such a thing. "But it basically works by all of us putting our name in a hat or something, and then whoever's name you draw, you have to stay in the closet with them for seven minutes!" He laughed and then added, "And it _has _to be seven minutes! No longer or shorter than seven! Even if you're dying or screaming or banging, only once seven minutes are up, you can come out!

Some country's faces paled with horror at the description. Russia, however, looked content with this suggestion. "Sounds like fun, da?" he said. "Who wants to become one with me?"

"No, no, no!" Japan said, looking absolutely horrified at such a suggestion. "Personar space! I can't be in a croset with someone for that rong!"

"Ve, I could be in there with Ge—!" Italy cut off his sentence, his face freezing. He quickly folded his arms, looking down at the floor. "Ve, I mean… that game sounds _inappropriate!_" Germany visibly flinched at this, giving a quiet groan.

"Aw, c'mon, guys!" America whined. "It's an awesome game! Plus it's fun to watch! Let's just do it, please!" His look suddenly turned from pouty to mischievous. "Unless, of course, you guys are too cowardly to play it."

England scowled, but gave a huff. "If it will make you shut up," he hissed, "then I'll play."

"Ve, I will too!" Italy said, stepping forward. "It doesn't sound too scary! And nothing bad sounds like it could—"

Suddenly Germany stepped in as well. "I'll also play," he said. Some people stared at him in surprise, but he ignored them. "There has to be some order in this game," he mumbled, taking a small step closer to Italy. A small step that Italy didn't seem to notice but everyone else did.

"I'll play if Japan does, aru!" China said, also stepping in.

"What?" Japan asked, looking shocked. "Ah, b-but… I don't want to pray! Personar—!"

"Aiyaa!" China called, grabbing the Japanese man by the wrist, forcibly pulling him in. "Play, aru! You won't get hurt, I promise, aru!"

Japan stared at him for a moment, still looking unsure. But he finally gave in as he stood next to China. "Fine," he said. "I'rr do it for you."

Seeing as everyone else was in, Canada also stepped forward. "Eh… I, I guess I'll play too."

"Sweetness!" America yelled, fist-pumping. After his little celebration, he continued excitedly. "Okay, so we need some paper and a pen! We just need to rip it up, write our names on it and pull a name out!"

England reached into his breast pocket as he pulled out some paper. "Here, they're some unimportant notes," he said, passing them to America.

"And I have a pen here!" Italy added, pulling an art pen from an inside pocket of his suit jacket.

America made quick work of the paper, ripping it up into eight different pieces. Everyone quickly wrote their names down on a piece and handed them back to America. He hastily shuffled them and set them on the coffee table near the center of the room. "Alright then!" he cheered. "So you just pick up a piece of paper, and whoever's name's on it, you go into the closet with them!" He asked if everyone understood, and everyone nodded in response. "Okay, I guess I'll go first!" He gave a slight sidelong glance to England—a glance that England didn't see, but everyone else did. He tentatively picked up a piece of paper. "Alright, I'm going in the closet with—!"

His face paled, and he seemed to choke on air. His mouth hung open, apparently unable to comprehend whose name was on the paper.

"Who is it?" England asked, stepping towards him.

"Uh…" America said, seeming to try and read the paper as if it would change its result. "Um… I… I got Russia."

The room temperature went down about ten degrees, making everyone turn to look at Russia. A smile was still placed on his face, but a dangerous aura was around him. "Ah. Is that so?" he asked, his purple eyes sparkling darkly. "Kol kol… sounds… _fun_."

America gulped audibly, a look that said _'What the hell have I done?'_ obvious on his face. "Uh… s-someone else draw now… I guess."

Seeing as no one else was going for it, England stepped forward, a look of concentration in his features. "Here goes nothing," he said quietly as he picked up a piece of paper. He flipped it over and seemed slightly relieved. "I got Japan," he stated, looking up to look for his partner.

Japan jumped slightly, not expecting his name to come up. He felt anxious, but he supposed that he felt comfortable enough with England. They did have a good friendship, and he knew England to not be the type to make others uncomfortable. He felt comforted by this, but once again got nervous as he saw China's face. He was very obviously brooding, his arms crossed tightly at his chest. Part of him wanted to calm him, but he decided to just sense the mood and remain quiet. This was just a silly game after all. China should be fine after a few minutes.

"Ve, I'll go!" Italy cheered, walking up to the pile of papers. Not paying attention to what piece he drew, he quickly picked one and flipped it over. The smile on his face suddenly disappeared, replaced with a blushing scowl. "I… I got Germany," he said, looking up to his partner. Germany looked relieved, yet disappointed at the same time. Italy just flashed a fake smile at him. "Don't worry! I won't do anything _inappropriate!_" The German flinched again, looking like he was seriously about to throttle Italy.

As all the others met up with their partners, Canada looked around until he spotted the only one left—China. However, when he spotted him, he regretted it. He looked upset and was glaring severely at England. He was about to go over and maybe try talking to him when China said, "This game is stupid, aru! I don't want to play anymore!"

Canada's spirits sunk, once again feeling very forgotten in his own home. "Oh," he said quietly, looking down at his feet. "Okay… I guess I didn't really want to play either." Why would he have wanted to play anyways? It was just an awkward sounding game. Besides, he didn't know China very well. It would have just been uncomfortable.

"Then I'll play!"

Canada jumped, turning around to see France in the doorway, a smile on his face. His sleeves had been rolled up, and he was still in the process of beating some flour off of his bare forearms. His hair had also been pulled back, making Canada feel dizzy—he hadn't seen his hair pulled back like that for years. "E-eh?" Canada asked, already feeling much more anxious. "Ah, b-but… what about breakfast?"

"It's already in the oven!" France said, coming to stand next to Canada. He then shot a look over to England. "Unlike _some_ people, I know how to cook efficiently."

"Shut up, damn frog!"

France just chuckled and refocused his attention to Canada. "Anyway, if China doesn't want to play, I will gladly take his place and be _mon Matthieu's_ partner." His hand slipped around Canada's waist once again, pulling him closer. "If that is okay with you, that is," France said, giving a light squeeze to his side.

"Ah… eh… um… I…" Canada for a moment forgot how to take sounds and make words with them. "Eh… I… yeah. Okay."

China still looked annoyed, but he nodded as he went to lean against the wall. "The game sounded stupid anyway, aru," he murmured, looking down at the floor even as his eyes still glanced over at Japan every few seconds.

Now that everyone was settled, America looked around, a nervous look on his face. "Okay, so," he said, scratching his head awkwardly, "um… Who wants to go first?"

"I say we do!" Russia chirped, looking far too happy to mean anything good. "Seeing as you are the one who suggested the game, why don't you and I go first?"

America froze, looking like he'd rather shoot himself repeatedly in the kneecap than be anywhere near Russia. But after a moment, he gave a loud sigh, kicking his foot against the floor. "Fine," he mumbled. "Let's just get this over with."

Russia gave a smile that lowered the room temperature even farther, sending a shiver through the room. "Da, let the fun begin!"

While everyone moved towards the closest closet, bets immediately began being exchanged on who would murder the other first. Canada just hoped that not too much blood would be spilled in the closet—blood stains were just so hard to clean up.


	5. Chapter 5

x-x-x-x-x

Wow.

Was it just him, or did closets suddenly seem a lot smaller in Canada?

Because, _dude_. That closet looked way too small.

Germany held the newest and greatest brand of smartphone in his hand that he had borrowed from Japan just for the occasion. "So you two must stay in the closet for seven minutes, correct?" Germany clarified, toying with the phone to get to the program set up as he needed.

America slowly gulped, shoving his hands deep inside his pockets. "Uh, y-yeah," he answered, trying to ignore the much-too-happy Russian next to him. "Um… but, uh, if I… er, or if one of us starts screaming can we be let out? Please?"

"Nein," Germany replied without any hesitation. "You said while explaining the rules that there was no reason to be let out before seven minutes had passed. And I intend to abide by those rules."

A cold chill passed through America as his words came back to haunt him: "_Even if you're dying or screaming or banging, only once seven minutes are up, you can come out!_" Damn. Why did he always have to say stupid crap before he actually thought it out?

"There," Germany said, finally looking up from the phone. "I have the stopwatch set up. We'll let you out after seven minutes exactly."

"Oh," America said, looking between him and the closet. "Okay. Awesome."

Everyone paused for a few moments, America looking around awkwardly. Maybe if he stood there for long enough, they'd change their minds and decide to play something else. Instead, Germany said, "Are you two going to go in?"

"Uh, w-well…"

"_Da_!" Before America could say anything else, he found his arms in Russia's grasp as he was pushed inside the closet. He would have screamed, but then he quickly remembered that heroes _never _scream. Instead, he would have roundhouse kicked Russia in the face Chuck Norris style (because he could totally do that—haters gonna hate), but by the time he actually thought about it, the door was already shut tightly, the closet fading into sudden darkness.

America was quickly regretting everything. It was dark in here, and way too small. His back was pressed against a wall, one side being attacked by clothing, and the other just grazing the door. He wasn't touching Russia, but he could feel his presence only an inch or two away from him. He just decided that he could stop all movement for seven minutes, as long as it meant that he and Russia didn't have to touch.

"So, America," Russia said, making America jump from how close his voice was. "What are we supposed to be doing?"

America looked down, biting his lower lip. What you were supposed to do in this game was make out with whoever you were in the closet with. He blushed, knowing that the only reason he had wanted to play this game was to be stuck in a closet with England. But of course his plan had backfired. Now he was stuck in here with one of the only people he absolutely hated. "Well… um… basically…"

"If you can't explain it," Russia said sweetly, his voice sounding like poisoned honey, "then perhaps you can become one with Russia instead?"

America growled, glaring at him through the darkness. "Hell no!" He pressed himself harder against the wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and the Russian as possible. However, he quickly regretted this when he realized that he was only trapping himself further. He tried finding his way through the clothes next to him, trying to get away. Maybe he could find Narnia? He was sure Mr. Tumnus could really help him out right now. But his attempts were stopped when Russia's hands hit the wall on either side of him, blocking him from moving any direction. "Get away from me, damn commie!" America hissed, pushing Russia away of him.

With the shove, he felt something hit his stomach. Something hot and _wet_.

Oh shitake mushrooms.

x-x-x-x-x

England was not worried.

As he stood with his back pressed against the wall, eying the closet, he just _knew_ he was not worried whatsoever. He wasn't tapping his foot out of concern. Nor was he at all worried while he bit his bottom lip. No, he held no concern for what was going on inside that closet whatsoever.

"They've been in there for a minute and a half," Germany noted, keeping careful watch on the phone in his hand. "With America in there, I'm surprised that they're being so quiet."

"As am I," Japan agreed, standing next to China who appeared to be keeping him from going anywhere else. "America is arways so roud. It's not rike him to be so sirent."

Canada nodded in agreement, keeping his eyes on the closet door—that was, until France's hand 'accidentally' wandered, making Canada's face turn bright red as he slapped France's hand away from his ass.

"Maybe they killed each other already?" China suggested a bit too enthusiastically, still looking annoyed at this whole game.

Germany seemed to be about to say something, but his words were cut off when a sudden scream came from the closet. "AAAH! WHY?! OH GOD, WHY?!"

Everyone's eyes went wide as they stared at the door. That was America's voice screaming. Concern twisted in England's stomach. Well, not a huge amount of worry, mind you. Just… well, he _had_ screamed. Anyone would be worried. And it was only out of mere curiosity that he suddenly found himself at the door, pressing his ear to it. "What the bloody hell?" he said, trying to think of what could be happening in there.

"Oh, sorry, comrade!" Russia's voice said, sounding slightly embarrassed. Which was quite odd when England thought about it. Why would the Russian be embarrassed? "It sometimes does that!"

"What the hell?!" America yelled back, sounding petrified. "That's not natural, dude! I mean… how can you do that? Have you seen a doctor about that?"

"Oh, it just happens!" Russia answered nonchalantly. "Sometimes it just decides it no longer wants to stay in my clothes!" England's eyes widened, trying to understand the Russian meant. _What_ was Russia unable to keep in his clothes? He felt his cheeks darken, but he shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was never a good idea to just jump to conclusions. "Now, if you don't mind, could you—"

Another scream could be heard from America, making England jump. "A-aah! Dude! It's pulsing! That's freaking disgusting!"

"_Da_. That's usually what happens when there's blood flow," Russia replied, sounding less than impressed.

"Eww, get it away from me!"

"If you would calm down and just—AH!"

The sudden cry had surprised England, and it seemed to have surprised America as well. "A-ah, w-what's wrong?" he asked, sounding panicked. "What did I…?"

"Don't squeeze it!" Russia hissed, sounding rather angry. "That's a very sensitive organ! You don't just go around squeezing it!"

England's face flushed deeper. Squeeze _what_? What sensitive organ? He jumped when he felt someone walk up next to him, also wanting to listen to the conversation that was quickly heating up. Turning his head, he was relieved to see it was just Japan. However, for some reason, Japan had his hand to his face, his cheeks also deep red. "I didn't think Russia would be so… verbar…"

England nodded, pressing his ear back to the door. "Erm… y-yeah. Neither did I…"

"If it's so sensitive," they heard America whine, "then take it back! I don't want it anywhere near me!"

"Perhaps if you would stop squirming so much…"

"Dude, this thing is in my hands! I can't stop moving! It—ACK!" A bang was heard, Russia also letting out an annoyed yell. "S-sorry," America said weakly. There was a lethal pause, to which America quickly added, "It's slippery, okay?!"

_S-slippery?!_ England thought to himself. What the bloody hell were they talking about?

"Just give it—AH! America! Stop squeezing it!"

"Well, I don't wanna drop it! Neither of us would like that!"

"Here," Russia hissed, sounding quite angry, "just put it—AMERICA!"

A loud smack was heard, along with America making a yelp. "What the hell! Don't slap me, damn commie!"

"Then do as I say, capitalist pig! Just put it back in!"

England's jaw dropped. _Put it back in?!_ He heard a pop next to him, and he turned his head to see Japan suffering from a horrible nosebleed. China ran over to stop him from hitting the ground and dragged him over to the safety of the wall. England stayed just where he was, pressing his ear back to the door. What the hell was going on in there? What was Russia doing to him?

"I'm not putting it back in!" America yelled back, sounding disturbed just by the suggestion. "If you want it so bad, _you_ put it in!"

"It would be much easier for me to put in if you stopped holding it so tightly," Russia growled. "Just do as I say and—"

"MAKE ME!"

The closet went deadly silent, making even England nervous. But after a few seconds, he could almost hear Russia's sadistic smile. "Okay!" the Russian chirped much too happily.

Shuffling could be heard, followed by America's voice. "Ah, w-what are you do…?" England jumped as he heard America scream once again. "OH GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! N-no, stop it! Don't do EEEK! D-don't touch tha-aah!"

England felt sick with something he couldn't quite identify. He was very worried now, but there was something else that was very much bugging him. He was paralyzed where he stood, but part of him just wanted to pull the door open and stop whatever nonsense was happening in that closet. No one could touch America like this! England simply wouldn't allow it!

"Stop struggling," Russia sang, a loud thump following his words. "If you just relax, this will be over sooner. Just let me—"

"AAH! D-dude! What the hell was that?!"

"Hmm?" Russia sounded genuinely confused now. "What? What did I do?"

"Y-you…" America's words faded off, England pressing his ear harder against the door, trying to figure out what was being said.

Russia seemed to also have a problem deciphering what the American had said. "Come again?" Russia asked.

"GET OUT OF MY PANTS!"

England's knees nearly gave out. What the hell was Russia doing? Was he molesting him? Was he _raping_ him? Oh God, he better not be doing anything that obscene to America, or else he was going to kill that communist bastard.

Russia made a scoffing noise while America continued making complaints as he seemed to not pay attention to his objection. "Please, America, you're overreacting once again."

"Your hand," America cried, sounding hysterical, "is in my pants! I am _not_ overreacting!"

"Well, if your hands weren't so clumsy," Russia scolded, sounding beyond irritated with America's behavior, "then we wouldn't be in this situation, would we?"

"Six minutes," Germany announced. England turned his head in surprise from the announcement, now able to see that the German was also looking quite nervous about the sounds coming from the closet. China was fanning Japan, holding a tissue to his face to stifle the sudden bleeding. Canada looked horrified from both his brother's screaming and also from the Frenchman next to him that was whispering in his reddening ears.

"G-get out of the-aah!" America's complaint faded off, and England's heart clenched when all he heard next was a sad whimper. "R-Russia, stop! Please, I don't wanna—"

"You're the one who made me have to do this," Russia hissed, not sounding at all remorseful about what he was doing to the American. "Now, just a little further and…"

"A-aaah!" America cried out desperately. "N-no! Get out! Take it out! No-aaah!"

"It's in too deep now," Russia growled, sounding frustrated. "Maybe if you stopped moving so much, I could pull out."

"But this isn't comfortable! A-at all! I can't just s-stop moving!"

Russia gave out a small yelp, followed by a growl. "Don't tense like that! It hurts! Relax for a second and…"

"I'm tryi—hah-gnnng!" America's throat sounded strangled, England feeling himself shaking. He had heard sounds like these before—but he just couldn't believe that Russia and America were doing such things in a closet of all places! Not that, if suggested, he _wouldn't_ do such activities in a closet; it's just that a bed was more traditional… and comfortable.

"Almost there," Russia said, a few yelps audible from America, each progressively getting louder and more distressed. "Almost!"

America gave out another strangled cry, Russia gasping. That's when Germany finally said, "Time's up."

Not having to be told twice, England quickly turned the lock, violently twisted the handle and pulled the door open, preparing himself for the worst.

"Ow, dude!" America whined, quickly shielding his eyes with a hand. "Bright light! Warning please?!"

Russia didn't seem too interested in the now opened door, but England followed his line of sight down to his hands—his hands that were dripping in blood.

"Dear God!" England cried, jumping back in shock. "What the bloody hell?! Why is there blood?"

Finally, Russia looked up as he put a smile back on his face. "Oh, sorry to scare you!" he said, not really sounding sorry at all. "America pushed me, and my heart fell out again! It really needs to stop doing that!"

England continued to stare at them, trying to figure out what all the noises he had heard meant. "B-but," he stammered, almost feeling sick. "Then… why… why were you inside his… his trousers?"

The two of them stared back at him now, looking surprised. "He was overreacting like the stupid American he is!" Russia finally answered, giving a small laugh. "He kept almost dropping my heart, and it finally fell in his pocket! So I had to go after it!"

"My pockets are part of my pants!" America argued, his face turning slightly red. "Dude, it was kinda awkward, you have to admit!"

Russia just shot a dangerous smile at him. "Well, if you hadn't dropped my heart in the first place," he hummed, "then I wouldn't have had to dig in your pockets! By the way, if someone's trying to get something out of your pocket, please, don't bend over. It makes it extremely hard to retrieve your hand."

"Oh, well, _sorry!"_ America shot back in a mocking sing-song voice. "A man had their hand down my pants, so I was panicking! Sorry I'm a normal human being! God!"

England was still just standing there, trying to figure everything out. The squeezing Russia had complained about—he supposed the heart _was _a sensitive organ. And if it was covered in the Russian's blood, then it would be rather slippery. And America wasn't known for his ability to be careful with things—he often accidentally broke things with his incredible strength.

After standing there for a few more moments, England suddenly realized America and Russia were still staring at him. "So," America said, looking at him curiously, "are you gonna let us out or what?"

Blustering, England realized that, indeed, he was still standing directly in front of the doorway, blocking any exit. Feeling his face reddening, he quickly backed away and retreated to the back of the room, just trying to avoid everyone. The two also retreated swiftly from the inside of the closet, Russia wandering off somewhere, most likely to properly put his heart back in place.

England glared down at the floor, his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest. How bloody embarrassing that had been! He had thought that Russia had been doing terrible things in there to the American. But it had all been a misunderstanding. He had been scared out of his mind over nothing!

He jumped once again when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. For a moment, he was preparing to yell at France, but he quickly noticed that France was still currently bothering an increasingly bashful Canadian. Looking to his left, he felt his heart clench when he saw America's blue eyes looking back into his own. "You okay?" he asked, a small smile on his lips.

England stared at him for a moment, not sure how to respond. But he quickly replaced his curious stare with a scowl. "Of course I am, git," he hissed, returning his gaze to the floor. "I had… just been a tad worried about your wellbeing is all. Don't get the wrong idea."

America didn't seem to buy his explanation though. "You looked a lot more worried than 'a tad,'" he teased, making an idiotic mocking face at him. "From the look of horror you had, I think you were worried a lot."

Stubbornly, England continued to glare down at the floor. "I didn't want Russia to do anything to you," he admitted, clenching his hands into fists. "What, is that a crime now?"

Making him give a darker scowl, America gave a small chuckle. "No, it's not a crime." England twitched slightly when America's arm currently around his shoulders squeezed him a little, pulling him close enough so his side was pressed against America's chest. "But it sure is cute."

Those last few words took a few seconds to completely process, England certain that no such words could have ever come from the American's mouth. But when his brain had finally realized that, yes, America had just called him _cute_, he couldn't help but look up at him. He felt his chest tighten again when he saw that America's eyes were still on him, though they had softened some. "I am not _cute_," England grumbled, hating himself as he felt blood rush up to his face.

America's smile widened while England's scowl deepened. "Fine, you're not cute."

Slitting his eyes, England returned his line of sight to the floor. "Good," he murmured. "Now that we've gotten that—"

"You're not cute; you're just incredibly _sexy_."

"—cleared up, we ca—w-whuh, what?" England didn't dare look up at America now, genuinely afraid of what he would see. He had no bloody idea what he was trying to get at. Was he trying to make him die of embarrassment; trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible?

"You heard me," America teased, pulling him a bit closer—much too close for the situation. "And while we're talking, wanna know why I think you were so freaked out about what you were hearing in that closet?"

The floor had now become the most interesting thing England had ever seen. "I'm not particularly interested," he answered, wanting very much to just _leave_.

"I think you were worried," America said, England shuddering when he felt the other's warm breath hitting his ear. "But I think there's more to that story. I think you were…" The Brit again involuntarily shivered when America's free hand lightly brushed blond strands behind his ear. "…_Jealous_."

And with that, the warmth around him disappeared, shocking him into looking up. "Anyways!" America chirped, smiling brightly at him. "I'm glad you're okay!" He kept his eyes on him for one last moment, and then turned around to face the others. "Alright, who wants to go next?"

"I vote Japan out of the game!" China complained, still looking rather pissy. "He's still passed out from stupid you and stupid Russia!" Indeed, Japan was still against the wall, definitely not looking in any condition to be locked in a closet with someone. England felt sorry for the small Asian man, but was at the same time relieved—at least he didn't have to play anymore either.

"How about we go?" France asked, making Canada look startled. "We will have much fun, though I'm not sure if all I have planned with fit in only seven minutes! Ohon hon!"

"M-maple…"

America stared at them, his mouth frozen in an open-mouthed smile. "Ah, how about hell no?" he answered. "You're a little too eager." He looked around the room until his eyes landed on Germany, Italy not too far off from him. "Okay, how about you two go?"

The two looked slightly shocked, glancing at each other. Germany looked concerned and awkward, and Italy looked upset and also rather awkward. Giving a sigh, Germany slowly nodded, handing the phone to America. "Ja," he said quietly, sounding like he was about to go to a funeral, "we'll go."

"Don't worry!" Italy added, a dark smile on his face. "Nothing inappropriate will—!"

However, Italy's comment was cut off as Germany grabbed him by the collar, making the small Italian gasp in surprise and perhaps a bit of actual suffocation. Within two seconds, Italy was thrown into the closet, quickly followed by an angry German as he slammed the door behind him.

People stared at the closet, a little surprised by what they had just witnessed. It wasn't often that Germany treated Italy so roughly. Though no one really blamed him with how Italy had been acting the past few hours.

Seeing as all of the attention was focused on them now, England took the opportunity to escape the room. America's actions and words still had his head reeling, and he was in some desperate need to just have some alone time to be able to think everything over.

He couldn't be jealous. It just was not possible.

Was it?

x-x-x-x-x

"Talk."

Italy was still a little dizzy from being thrown into the closet, and also a little shocked that Germany had done such a thing to him. Yes, he had been rather irritating today; but usually Germany just put up with it. He hadn't been expecting for Germany to start becoming that violent.

Shaking his head, Italy looked up to him—or at least in the general area he thought his face was located in the darkness—and frowned. "Talk about what?"

"I upset you," Germany growled, sounding like he was at his limit. "I've never seen you angry, and it's making me angry and just… Just tell me what to do to fix this."

"Why do you want to fix it?" Italy asked, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Do you want to fix it to make things easier for you, or to actually make me happy?"

"Both, if possible," Germany answered with a huff. "I don't like seeing you hurt or upset. And I'd love it if I didn't have to deal with a volatile Italian any longer. I just want things to go back to normal."

Italy rested his back against the wall, thinking the answer over. He was glad that Germany cared about him, and he thought it understandable that he didn't want him to be angry anymore—when Germany himself was angry, it scared him and he was willing to do anything to make things better for him. Giving a sigh, Italy decided that it was enough. "I really like you," he answered. "I don't just think you're okay or that you're a decent person. I really, really like you. I love everything. And I had just thought that maybe you liked me back as well."

There was silence for a while, Germany seeming to think over his statement. He drew a shaky breath—Italy knew he hated talking about feelings. But this was just something that they needed to talk about. "Well… how long have you… _liked_ me?" he asked finally.

Italy thought about it; how long _had_ he had these kinds of feeling for him? "I liked you from the first moment I saw you," he started, a smile almost creeping across his lips as he thought back to when he had tried to convince Germany that he was the Box of Tomatoes Fairy. "You protected me and you were nice to me! And you actually wanted to be my friend! And you weren't my friend to just use me; you were my friend because you wanted to be!" Italy paused to think, trying to pinpoint the moment that he began to feel more towards him. "I think… I think about the time that you promised to be my friend even when you were becoming allies with Russia… that's when I started feeling more for you. Because you were gaining really strong allies! You didn't need me at all. You could have dumped me off somewhere. You probably could have even killed me! But…" He couldn't stop the smile this time as it came to his face. "But you didn't. You promised to be friends with me forever. That was more than anyone had ever promised to me. And not only did you promise; you actually kept to it. You never left me, even when it would have benefitted you. You were different from everyone else. You actually cared."

The both of them paused for a while, letting all that had been said sink in. It honestly felt good to get all of this off his chest. But now that it was out, Italy was again scared of rejection. Knowing Germany couldn't see in the darkness, he crossed his fingers, hoping with all of his might that Germany wasn't going to be startled enough to abandon him.

"I'd never want to leave you," Germany finally answered, making Italy's heart clench. "Never. You're my closest friend. The only person I trust with everything. I could never just let you go."

'_Closest friend_.' Italy weaved his hands tightly together, his stomach twisting in knots. Was that all they were ever going to be? Friends?

"Have you ever thought," Italy inquired, choosing his words carefully, "of being… being _more_? More than just friends?"

They paused once again, Italy able to sense Germany's un-comfortableness. "I…don't think I have," Germany answered, his voice quiet and cautious.

Italy looked towards him, pursing his lips. "Germany. You either have or haven't. Which one is it?"

"Why me?" Germany suddenly demanded, making Italy jump. "Why do you like _me_? What have I done to deserve this?"

Italy paused, suddenly unable to breathe. What had he done to deserve this? Was him having feelings for the German really such torture for him? Was it really that painful? Already, tears slowly fell from his eyes. "Oh," he said softly, trying to hide the cracking of his voice. "I… I-if it's really that bad that I like you… I, I'm sorry…"

A small gasping noise came from Germany, and Italy suddenly felt hands placed clumsily on his shoulders. "No, that's not what I meant," he interjected quickly, sounding distressed. "No. I… I meant…why would you like someone like me?"

The question startled Italy, not having expected it at all. "Why wouldn't I like you?" he asked as if it was the strangest question anyone could have asked him.

Germany's hands tightened on his shoulders, Italy able to hear his discomfort in his silence. "You know the horrible things I've done," Germany stated, his voice slower and deeper than usual. "Many people hate me for what I've done. I'm used as an example for hatred around the world. So I'm…I'm just not sure why you'd want to like someone like me."

Italy still felt sick with worry, but he was slowly able to stop his tears. "I've done bad things, too," Italy mumbled, wiping his face dry of tears. "I mean… okay, I can't think of any right now, but… but I wouldn't hate you. And I know you better than that! I was there with you, remember? I knew you hated your boss! But…" Not able to contain himself anymore, he flung himself at Germany, wrapping his arms around him. "I'd never hate you, Germany! Ever!"

He felt Germany tense under him, but he didn't seem to be making any move to force him to stop hugging him. Instead, he felt Germany's hand lightly place itself on his head. "And you're the only person who's ever understood me fully. The only one who accepts me for everything I am."

Italy pressed his face against Germany's chest. "You always protect me," he sniffed, his voice quiet. "You've never left me." He turned his head to try to hide his tears further. "And… and you remind me of… _him_."

Germany shifted slightly under his touch. Italy didn't mind though—where he was now, he could hear Germany's heartbeat. "Who do I remind you of?" he asked softly. His hand was still placed on his head, though it had stayed quite still as if he wasn't sure what he should do with it.

Pausing, Italy was trying to decide whether or not he should inform Germany of this. He hadn't really shared it with anyone—the only people who really knew were Austria, Hungary, France and Romano. He'd never told anyone else. Gathering his courage, he decided to tell him; Italy cared about him, so it only made sense that Germany should know. "There was… another boy who really liked me when I was small. And I really liked him too. But we didn't get to be together for very long. He had to leave for a war, and I never saw him again…" He sniffled, pained at the memory of loss. "I had always thought he'd return one day… but when I got older, France finally told me that he had died in battle." He buried his face deeper in Germany's chest, his own heart hurting as he forced himself to go through these memories once again. "And… and when I met you… You look so much like him. You even act like him sometimes. It's almost as if you were sent here for me. That's what it feels like at least."

He felt Germany looking down at him curiously, and neither of them spoke for quite a while. Finally, Germany lightly petted his head with his hand, lightly tousling his hair. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "Loss is painful, no matter how many years pass." They both paused again, Italy trying to level his breathing. "May I ask," Germany spoke, keeping his voice soft, "what his name was?"

Taking another deep, shuddering breath, Italy nodded. "_S__ì_… his name… his name was Holy Rome."

Quiet once again permeated the conversation, the name seeming to float in the air. Germany remained stiff, but after a few seconds, Italy became concerned. Why wasn't he moving? From where his ear was, he could hear Germany's heart beating at a hard and fast pace. Something wasn't right. "Germany?" Italy looked up to him, trying to see what was wrong. Finally, his eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark, a faint outline of Germany's features visible. His face was intense, his blue eyes wide. His mouth was a thin line, no sound escaping him whatsoever. Italy's heart also began to race. "G-Germany?"

After a few moments, Germany's tense body suddenly loosened, Italy panicking as he felt Germany tremble slightly. He held him tighter, trying to make sure that he didn't topple over. "Italy," he whispered, his voice sounding suddenly very tired.

"Germany?" Italy asked again, looking up towards his face desperately, trying to see his expression. "Germany, what's wrong? What happened?"

Germany seemed to regain his balance, though he still seemed a little off-kilter. "Italy," he said again, his tone sounding almost confused. "You… you're not…"

Italy's brow furrowed, trying to figure out what was troubling Germany so. "What?" he pressed. "What's wrong?"

"You're not… a girl?"

Italy's stomach clenched. "What?" he asked, feeling mildly offended. Yes, he was defenseless most of the time, and sure, he sometimes acted feminine, and okay, he liked to wear dresses when he was little. But that didn't give anyone a right to call him a girl!

"But," Germany murmured, his voice quiet, "you were always cleaning. And always wearing dresses. And you were too pretty to be a girl. I never thought that…"

Eyes widening, Italy stared at him, his stomach churning. "How… how did…?" His voice was cut off as he felt gentle fingers place themselves under his chin, tilting his head further up.

"Italy…" He felt warm breath against his lips, his hands immediately clenching to the fabric of Germany's shirt. His heart was beating so fast it almost hurt. He forgot how to breathe properly.

"Holy… Ro—"

"TIME'S UP!"

A small yelp escaped Italy from surprise and pain as light poured into his retinas. He brought his hand to block the light from his burning eyes, but gave another yelp as he felt himself pushed away, his back hitting the opposite closet wall. He opened his eyes again to try and see what was going on. He was finally able to see Germany clearly, but his expression made him even more worried. He looked extremely confused and almost even scared himself. Italy had never seen such an expression on his face.

"Germa—?"

"I need to think," Germany said abruptly, holding a hand to his head. "I'm just… very confused right now. I just need some time by myself to think."

Before Italy could say anymore, or could even try to stop him, Germany exited the closet, leaving Italy there to wonder just what had happened. Italy stayed pressed against the wall, avoiding America's questioning glances.

And Germany said that he couldn't understand him.

x-x-x-x-x

"I am truly sorry, _mon Canada_. My hands cannot help but appreciate a perfect body when they see one."

Canada wasn't sure if it was possible, but he flushed a deeper shade of red, his hands shaking slightly at his sides. All morning, there hadn't been a moment when France's hands had _not_ been on him. For quite a while, he'd been gently removing his hands, hoping that he would get the hint and give up. However, as time had passed, his hands had become bolder as they begun wandering, making Canada even more flustered. And now he would even add whispered compliments, telling him how beautiful he was or how sweet he smelled. It was becoming almost too much for him to handle.

Having not been able to pay much attention to the game, Canada was shocked when America walked up to them, a huge smile on his face. "'Kay, guys! It's your turn."

"Ohon hon!" France laughed, pulling him closer, Canada giving out a small whimper. "Then we shall make our way, hm?"

"Uh," Canada muttered, not sure whether to go with it or perhaps feign fainting—it had gotten Japan out of playing the game, so maybe it could work for him. "I… O-okay…"

His mind didn't seem to be able to keep going in one single direction of thought. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He had already hurt France once today, and he didn't want to see him hurt again. The sad look of disappointment and nearly crushed him. He couldn't bear to see it two times in one day. But at the same time, France couldn't keep his hands off of him in a wide open space; what was it going to be like in a small closet? He wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his sanity—or his virginity for that matter.

All too quickly, he found himself in front of the closet, France standing next to him with an expectant look sent in his direction. Slowly he changed his gaze from the closet back to France and back to the closet. What was he supposed to do?

Taking a large breath of air, deciding that there was no going back now, he slowly stepped inside, not letting the air escape in an exhale. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to remain calm. But when he felt the space in the closet quickly disappear and heard the door close, he nearly lost it.

He was locked in a closet.

With France.

He was fairly sure he'd had nightmares like this.

"It's not healthy to hold your breath for this long, Canada," France mused, Canada's eyes shooting open from how close his voice was in the enclosed space. Giving up, he let the air escape, quickly replacing it with fresh air. He felt his face redden in embarrassment—he'd been in here for less than twenty seconds, and he was already hyperventilating.

He felt France's hands grip his shoulders, lightly massaging his already extremely tense muscles. Even though he was speaking directly in his ear, he couldn't hear his honeyed words that were probably trying to comfort him. All he felt was complete panic. He wasn't usually claustrophobic, but being trapped in a closet with someone else and unable to escape was truly horrifying to him.

"_Mon Matthieu,_" France cooed, placing a hand on his back and slowly rubbing circles in attempt to pacify the panicking Canadian. "Please, calm down. I have told you before that I won't do anything to you unless you want me to."

Canada was still panicked, but France knew his weakness. Within a few seconds, he was calmed back down enough for him to regain the ability of speech. "I, I…" he tried, but his words were still a bit shaky.

"What is it, _mon amour?_" France asked, Canada shivering slightly as his breath tickled his ear.

"I…" Canada started. Once again, against his will, words began cascading from his mouth. "I'm just kind of nervous I'm usually not claustrophobic but I guess if I'm in a small place with someone else it really freaks me out and I think that it's just freaking me out more that it's you. Not that there's anything wrong with you I don't think you're a bad person you can just be intimidating not that that's a bad thing I mean… You just make me nervous is all because you've been so nice to me and paying attention to me and I honestly have no idea how to deal with that it's a completely foreign idea to me! N-not that I mind it I mean it's nice but I mean it's constant attention and it's kind of overwhelming but if it makes you happy I want to make you happy but that doesn't mean I'm easy either I just—"

Thankfully, his words were cut off as fingers were pressed against his lips. "Let me try to reassure you about all that you mentioned," France said, a little bit of a chortle in his voice. "Now, I'm sorry that I make you nervous; I tend to do that to people. It is something I actually pride myself on if I do say so myself. And I understand that most people do not pay attention to you. And I must say that they are missing out, not talking to such an amazing person as yourself. And being around you does make me happy." Canada heard the smile in his voice. "And I am glad that you are not—how did you say—_easy_. Having a bit of a challenge every now and then is quite exciting!"

Canada wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or more nervous. But he gave France an A for effort at least. "Ah, _m-merci_, France."

France gave a small laugh, brushing some of Canada's hair back from his face. "You are welcome," he said, gently drawing his fingers down his cheek. "I do have a question though, if it's not too much to ask."

Canada felt his chest tighten slightly, not knowing what to expect from the Frenchman. "Um w-what is it?"

He could swear that France's devious smirk was audible from miles away. "Could we possibly continue with what happened with morning?" he asked, Canada jumping when he felt France's thumb trace beneath his bottom lip. "You had said something about _'Baiser,' non_?"

And he was right back to square one. "Ah… um… I… I, um…"

"Yes?" France pressed, Canada feeling his breath dance across his ear. Canada was trying to think of an intelligent answer, but all thoughts stopped when he felt lips graze over his cheek, drawing ever closer to his own.

Suddenly the whole world was swirling around him, and it felt like the floor dropped out from under him as everything just stopped.

The next thing Canada was aware of was being shaken awake, his head spinning wildly as he realized he had suddenly gone from standing to sitting. He opened his eyes, but everything was still black—so they were still in the closet. His ears began working once more, and he heard France's voice. Though it was a tone he'd never heard before; he sounded actually panicked. "Canada!" he said, still shaking him by the shoulders. "Canada, please, _pardonnez-moi!_ Please, wake up!"

"E-eh?" he murmured, trying to blink his dizziness away. "Wh-what?"

Finally, Canada stopped being shaken, France nearly tackling him. "Oh, _mon Dieu!_" he cried, abruptly pulling the Canadian forward into an embrace. "I thought I had given you a heart attack! Don't ever scare me like that again!"

_Heart attack?_ "What happened?" Canada asked, his head still fuzzy on details. He remembered France nearly kissing him, but then everything became a blank after that.

France let Canada's back press against the wall, though he kept a firm grip at his shoulders. "Well, I suppose I went too far, because you fainted," France explained. Now that he had calmed, he gave a small chuckle. "Usually those I am with do not pass out until their orgasm! But this is the first time that just the mere thought of a kiss made them swoon!"

Canada flushed from France's bluntness, but he was glad that France seemed okay now. He felt bad for making him so scared. He hadn't ever thought he would legitimately pass out; it had been a surprise to the both of them.

Both hands left Canada's shoulders, but after a moment or two, he found France at his side on the closet floor. His arm wrapped around his shoulder, but by now, Canada supposed he didn't mind too much anymore. "Are you comfortable like that?" he asked, looking in the general area that France was located. He knew that the clothes in here took up quite a bit of space, so he didn't want France to be uncomfortable at his expense.

France's hand squeezed his shoulder, giving a small chuckle in response. "_Oui_, Canada, I am fine. I am more worried about you to be honest." Canada felt fingers brush against his wrist, a hand lightly lying on top his own. "Are you alright, _mon amour_?"

Shyly, Canada turned his hand over, letting their hands press against each other palm to palm. The other seemed slightly surprised by the gesture, but within a moment, their fingers were intertwined. "I'm still a little dizzy," Canada hummed, his head feeling heavy. And it was only because his head was still spinning that he let it rest on France's shoulder. He just did this to rest his head a little. His hand in France's… well, he'd figure out an excuse for that later.

His fingers were gently squeezed, France trailing his thumb gently up and down his own. "Then feel free to rest, _mon ch__é__re_. I'd hate to see you pass out again."

At that, Canada gave a small laugh. "I, I'm really sorry about that," he said, turning his head so his cheek was against France's shoulder. "I think that's the first time I've passed out from anxiety. I really didn't mean to make you worried like that."

"No need to apologize," France answered, resting his own head atop the Canadian's. "I should not have pushed you. I am just glad that you are alive and here with me."

Canada smiled, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment. France could be an intimidating pervert sometimes; but he was also the kindest person he knew. And he supposed that France wasn't as scary as he had always thought. "Thank you," Canada murmured, feeling and letting himself head toward drowsiness.

"Hmm?" France lifted his head, most likely to look down at him. "Thank you for what?"

Giving a small squeeze of his own to France's hand, he continued to smile. "For noticing me."

France was silent beside him, not even a chuckle escaping him. Instead, he felt a kiss placed on his head before France returned his head to its place atop Canada's. "My pleasure," France replied.

For the first time in a long time, a sincere smile was on Canada's lips as he faded off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

"Chérie, wake up."

Canada mumbled drearily, nuzzling his head farther into his pillow. He felt a little dizzy and wanted to keep sleeping for a bit longer, hoping that more rest would help him feel normal once again. However, as he tried to fade back off, he felt someone shake him by the shoulder gently, making him mumble in complaint. Against his will, he finally opened his eyes, knowing that France wasn't going to let him continue with his nap.

However, as he opened his eyes, he suddenly remembered he wasn't in his bed. And he realized that his head wasn't resting against a pillow.

"…Eh?"

Looking out the corner of his eye, his saw France next to him, and remembered that they were in a closet. He finally remembered letting his head rest on the Frenchman's shoulder so he could catch his bearings. Then as he looked down, he also abruptly remembered that, for a reason still not quite known to him yet, they were holding hands.

At first, Canada didn't realize the obvious problem with this scene. He was in a windowless closet. Finally, Canada abruptly realized that he could actually _see_ this. His head shot up, his eyes abruptly meeting America's.

"Eh!" Heat rushing up to his face, Canada jolted and tried to jump up. However, the sudden movement sent his head spinning once again as he felt himself heading towards the floor. He closed his eyes, hoping that at least he wouldn't hit his head, but he felt arms catch him as he landed on something soft and warm. He kept his eyes closed, trying to make his head stop its troublesome spinning. But the Frenchman talking in his ear wasn't helping him straighten his head very well.

"Mon cher," France cooed in his ear, his arms holding him close against his chest. "If you wanted to sit in my lap, all you had do to was ask!"

His head still spinning dazedly, it took a few moments for Canada to realize just where he was. Then he suddenly realized just what France's words meant. He raised his head, feeling his heart flutter when he saw how close France's face was to his own. He was, as France had noted, sitting in his lap. Sad little noises that were supposed to be words escaped his throat, only making pathetic squeaks. Why did everything he do only end up making things worse for him?

It seemed that France noticed how flustered he was getting—not that it was hard to notice in the first place—and mercifully shifted beneath him while trying to pull the Canadian up. "Come, mon amour. Some space will do you good."

It took a few moments, but finally Canada was able to get to his feet without losing his balance. Even though he wasn't as wobbly now, he still felt France's hands at his waist. "Eh, I, I'm fine, France," he reassured, not wanting him to worry too much about him. He still felt rather embarrassed for fainting earlier—he must seem so weak to France now.

However, he just heard France chuckle behind him. "I know you are fine," he replied, his smirk once again all too audible in his tone. "In more ways than one."

America made a sudden gagging noise, making a face looking like he was about to vomit. "Dude, don't hit on my brother in front of me. That's friggin disgusting."

"Al," Canada said, a slight blush on his face, "he's been doing this since yesterday. Why are you only speaking up now?"

Childishly, America stuck out him bottom lip. "Dude, he's doing it right in front of me. I don't care whenever else, not my issue. But I don't wanna have to watch it!"

Canada deadpanned. Why did he have to have a douchebag for a brother? "Well, we do not want to make the American upset, _non_?" France teased, wrapping his arms not so subtly around the Canadian's waist from behind. "Let us go then!"

Still slightly out of it, and just irritated with his brother's idiotic behavior, Canada let France guide him away from the closet, not caring to pay attention to where he was being taken as long as it was away from that tiny space and away from his stupid brother. However, he suddenly began to worry when he realized that France had taken him into the kitchen—the kitchen where they were very much alone. "France?" he whispered nervously, gripping France's hands that rested on his stomach with his own. "What are you…?"

"It is alright, _mon beau_," France cooed into his ear from behind, making the frazzled Canadian jump as a startled whimper escaped him. "I just want to make sure that someone as gorgeous as yourself does not get hurt."

Pursing his lips, Canada looked down at the floor as he felt his face flush. "I… really don't see why you say things like that. I'm not anything special…"

France suddenly made a shocked noise, Canada once again feeling himself being pulled as his feet half-heartedly followed. After being dragged around a bit more, he found himself placed in a chair, France now standing in front of him, holding the Canadian's hands in his own. "_Mon dieu, mon Matthieu_!" he said, Canada almost laughing from how over-dramatized the words were. "I know that others often do not see you, but I had no idea that you could not even see yourself!"

"Well," Canada said, letting his gaze return to the floor, "really… what is there to see? I'm just a boring Canadian. I mean, even Kumehameha doesn't remember who I am. I'm not really much of anything."

Even though Canada was staring down at the floor with a frown on his face, he could feel France smiling at him. "There is a saying that I believe fits you perfectly, _mon beau_," he stated, pulling Canada's hands up until he found them pressed against France's chest. "You may mean nothing to the world. But you mean the world to someone."

The words, France holding his hands over his heart; everything was almost too much. His head spun with the meaning of those words. "I don't think anyone could ever feel that way for me," he whispered quietly, his voice almost inaudible to the point that he could barely hear himself.

"Oh, believe me, _mon cher_," France answered, Canada blushing as he took a hand from his chest and brought it to his lips, "I know for a fact that someone can feel that way for you."

Throat closed off, Canada couldn't think of what to say, could barely even remember how to breathe correctly. France was looking directly into his eyes, an expression the Canadian was so unfamiliar with on his face. Canada couldn't understand why someone would ever look at him like this—why anyone would ever notice him in general. "France…?"

Giving a last kiss to the Canadian's knuckles, France released his hand and backed away. "I am sorry to end this," he said, a smile still on his lips, "but I do have to finish our breakfast."

Canada sat still for a few moments, his head still trying to catch up with what had happened. But finally everything clicked as he shook his head lightly and stood up. "Let me help!" he said, thankful that his head was at last starting to clear. "I'm the host, you shouldn't have to do all the work."

France turned back to him, a small smile on his face. "You do not have to do anything, _Matthieu_," France answered, lightly waving him off. "I made quite a few croissants, so I do not think anything else has to be made."

Canada eyed him curiously. "How did you make croissants that fast?"

With a devious smirk, France gave him a wink. "_Mon cher_, the French do everything fast."

Once again, Canada felt blood rush up to his cheeks, managing to put a small scowl on his face. "W-well," he said, backing and turning away towards his fridge, "I could make eggs. I know at least Al likes eggs."

He heard France give a small chuckle from behind him, though it seemed that he was no longer trying to stop him. "Whatever you wish, _amour_," he answered. "As for me, I will finish preparing my part."

Canada nodded at this as he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. "Okay," Canada responded, a small smile on his face. "You'll see how amazing my eggs are." Tilting his head slightly, he laughed softly. "Hmm… or maybe I could make maple sausage? That's pretty good… Oh! Maple sausage and eggs! That would be really—!"

"Ohon, I would love your sausage any day, _mon Canada!"_

The poor Canadian nearly dropped the eggs, his face flushing even deeper than before. "_France!_"

France just continued to laugh as he wandered over to the oven and began to prepare breakfast. Canada just watched him, not sure if he would ever be able to be in the same room with France without blushing or fainting. He was very much beginning to doubt that something as incredulous as him actually being comfortable in the same room would ever happen.

x-x-x-x-x

Already before he opened his eyes, Japan knew that he had very little of his personal space left to him at the moment. He thought back to what he last recalled, and then remembered Russia and America being in the closet together, and nearly got a nosebleed once again from remembering how sultry and unrestrained their noises had been. After he calmed himself down from remembering such a fantastical event—one he'd have to remember for his shonen-ai manga—he opened his eyes to observe his surroundings. In front of him, he could see America and Russia over on the opposite side of the room, glaring at each other. Japan was guessing that what had occurred in the closet hadn't been as fun as it had sounded. Not far off from them, Italy was pacing in and out of a hallway with a surprisingly worried look on his face. France, England, China and Germany were nowhere to be seen in the room around him. Feeling a little off from the sudden nosebleed, he raised his arm to rub a palm against his forehead, a slight throbbing in his head. He stopped his movement however when he heard someone gasp next to him, making him jump slightly. It was then that Japan remembered that his personal space was being intruded upon. Turning his head to see who had gasped, all he saw was a flash of long dark hair before he was squeezed in a tight hug.

"Kiku, aru!" China cheered loudly in his ear as he gripped him tightly. "You finally awake! Don't scare me like that, _sha háizi_!"

Japan honestly didn't understand how China couldn't grasp the concept of personal space. "Ah, China!" he gasped, trying to gently push him off. "Personar space, prease! I don't rike—"

"Shut up," China cut off, refusing to end the personal space-defying hug. "You worried me, aru! I thought you dead! I hug you, and you like it, aru!" As if to prove his point, China huddled closer to him and tightened his embrace, only making Japan more and more uncomfortable as the awkward seconds ticked by.

"Rearry, China," Japan complained, trying to shrug off the hug, "I am okay. You don't—"

"It just us countries, aru!" China pouted, glaring up at him. "No 'China,' Kiku! Call me Yao!"

Japan wasn't sure whether he flushed or paled—it felt like a mix of both. "_N-nani_?" Japan asked disbelievingly, too surprised to continue his struggling at the moment. "Why do you want me to call you Yao?"

China just continued to stick his bottom lip out towards him, not showing any sign of backing down. "We friends, yes?" China pushed, edging somehow even closer to him. "We friends, so I call you Kiku and you call me Yao! Make sense, aru?"

Japan was now reduced to only being able to stare at him, unsure of how to react. After the past that was between them, Japan found it hard to be able to think of the two of them as friends. He wasn't proud of what he had done in the past—the killing, the bombings, the raping. But even with all he had done and how much he regretted it, he made it a point to himself to never forget it and to never fully forgive himself. Because he knew that if he forgave himself of his own sins, he would soon forget and commit them again. But he had no idea how China, the person he had attacked and ravaged so fiercely and mercilessly, could bring himself to acknowledge him as a friend.

Giving a sigh, Japan gently patted China on the head, letting himself give a small smile. "_Hai_. We are friends." He paused to take a breath, making China look up at him curiously. "…Yao."

At the sound of his name, a huge smile spread across China's lips. And the sight of that smile, for a moment, made Japan actually not mind the arms tightly wrapped around him.

He was knocked back to his usual senses however when both jumped at the sound of a loud crash. They simultaneously turned to see a startled America staring at a pipe that was newly-embedded into the unfortunate wall. While America looked panicked, Russia was smiling all too calmly as if slamming pipes into walls was a normal occurrence—then again, as Japan thought about it, he realized it might very well be a normal occurrence.

"The hell, man?!" America yelped, pointing violently at the wall. "That coulda been my face!"

"That was what I had been aiming for!" Russia answered cheerfully, his sweet smile still on his face. "But you had to ruin the fun and move!"

"And he wonder why I no become one with him," China sighed, his expression suddenly tired. Sometimes Japan forgot just how much China so disliked his less than sane northern neighbor. But when he had to be in the same room as the unusual Russian, he never blamed him for being so scared of him.

"Ret's go," Japan said, lightly pushing China away as he began to stand up. As he began to move though, China kept ahold of him, staring up at him as if Japan might crumble. "It's okay," Japan reassured, patting China's hands from him. "I'm fine." He offered a smile, and finally China seemed to be convinced as he released him. As he got to his feet, he looked down at China who was still staring up at him worriedly. Offering the smallest of smiles, Japan offered a hand to him. Seeing the hand, China's eyes widened as did his smile. He gladly took the hand, almost pulling Japan back down to the floor with how vigorously he took his hand as he stood.

Though for the next few minutes, Japan almost wished that he hadn't offered the hand as it stayed tightly in China's grasp. But he supposed as they walked to the kitchen to get away from the two fighting super powers, having his hand in someone else's wasn't such a horrible intrusion on personal space after all.

x-x-x-x-x

After yelling at a particular Russian profusely and taping a convenient piece of paper over the gaping hole now located in Canada's wall (he was sure the paper would totally distract his brother from looking behind it to see the damage done—it was fool proof, man!), America gave a long sigh as he walked his way to the room he was sharing with England. He was fairly sure after his last encounter with him, the Brit had retreated there as to get some alone time to think everything out for himself. America was just hoping that England would come to the conclusion that he wanted him to.

He just really hoped that maybe, just maybe, England liked him. Just even a little bit would be good enough for him.

Arriving to the door, he knocked lightly on it to give a warning that he was going to be entering. He was slightly worried when there was no answer to this knock, but when he opened the door, he saw the reason why. England was lying on the bed, his back down and his legs crossed at the ankle. His fingers were laced together over his stomach, and his eyes were closed as his chest rose slowly up and down. America smiled at the sight—so he had fallen asleep. He had to admit he liked that even when he was sleeping, England still looked graceful and collected. It seemed that he was the only one who could pull such a thing off.

"Hey, Iggs," America muttered, closing the door quietly behind him. He was relieved as he saw England make no movement at the nickname or the small click of the door. "Glad to see you're getting some sleep." Even though he hadn't shown it much earlier, he really did feel bad for making it so England had gotten so little sleep. He did care about him—much more than he let on—so he did regret being such a nuisance to him. But it did make him feel a bit better to see that he was at least able to sleep now.

Trying to be as quiet as he could, he walked up to the edge of the bed and stood there for a moment, taking some time to really just look at England's sleeping face. He looked so much calmer and less severe than when he was awake. Yet even as he slept, he still had a look of stress in his features, as if even sleeping couldn't make it possible to escape his problems. Very carefully, America lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress thankfully not shifting very much, barely disturbing the sleeping Brit.

"I wish I could do something to help," America whispered, a soft smile on his face, his brows creased in slight worry. "I know you're going through a rough time. I am too, what with the recession and all. I just wish I could help you more." Daring to go a little further, America slowly reached out his hand and gently brushed some of the blond strands from England's forehead, grazing his fingertips across his fair skin. "Just wish I could see you smile more. You look so nice when you smile." Then, seeing as England was unresponsive, before he could stop himself to think it through entirely, he leaned down and brushed his lips against his bare forehead. He retreated and smiled down at him, hoping that one day, he'd finally be able to show just how much he cared about him.

Deciding to let him sleep a while longer, America stood and walked to the door. With one last glance, he peered back at him, and smiled once again as he walked through the door, closing it behind him.

The room was quiet for a few moments more, England continuing to rest peacefully on the bed. The silent seconds continues to tick on for a while longer, his chest raising at an even pace. Then, a few seconds later, his green eyes flashed open as he quickly sat up, his hand shooting to his forehead. "What…?" He blankly stared forward, trying to figure out in his extremely confused mind just what happened.

What the American had said could have been taken obscurely as anything—a friend who wanted to help; a boy who still felt brotherly affection for his ex-caretaker. But that kiss to the forehead had changed everything.

Finally, all of the years of America teasing him, or the nudges and staring and odd looks made sense. Everything clicked so suddenly that his head spun.

America loved him.

"Holy _shit_!"

He jumped up to his feet, no longer able to stay still as his mind ran in all directions as he tried to figure out just what to do now. He was fond of America, though he wasn't quite ready to admit those feelings went anywhere past former brotherly affection or simple concern for his friend's welfare. But as he thought back over all they had been through, all they had done together, how those damn blue eyes felt when they were only on him. He couldn't help but feel himself begin to realize that perhaps he returned some of those feelings for him.

But of course, he couldn't say anything.

Being Great Britain held certain responsibilities. One of those responsibilities was to be dreadfully stubborn and most certainly _never_ reveal his feelings for another before the other did. While America had just revealed how he cared for him, it really didn't count. He had thought England was fast asleep! He never would have said such things if England had been awake to hear them.

Taking a few deep breaths, England calmed himself, trying to figure out the actions that now needed to take place. After going through strategy out of strategy, he slowly came to realize that there was only one option open to him.

If America wouldn't willingly tell him when he was awake, he supposed he'd just have to make him.

He was going to make America admit he loved him no matter what he had to do; even if all his dignity had to be given up, he was going to do it, dammit!

Cracking his knuckles, he gave a devious smile as he also walked for the door. It was time for his plan to be set in motion.

He silently just hoped that his plan wouldn't fail too badly.

x-x-x-x-x

Much to Italy's dislike, Germany very much enjoyed time to himself. Even when Italy took the liberty to come visit him at his house, Germany would often lock himself in his room while ignoring Italy's attempts to be (perhaps just a little too) social. But even then, Germany, after he cooled himself down, would try to entertain him and make sure that he was okay and not too incredibly bored. Even during these circumstances, he never left him to fend for himself for too long.

But never before had he just left him alone for nearly half an hour like this. And never in these kind of circumstances.

He paced frantically from side to side, wringing his hands together nervously as he tried not to burst into tears. He was so scared about everything now. He was scared that their time in the closet had been too much; that Germany had suddenly realized that he hated him; that everything between them no longer mattered and that he was now less than nothing to him. He had no idea what was going on in Germany's head, and desperately wanted to help. Or if nothing else, to at least talk and try to fix things. He just wanted for everything to be okay.

As he was pacing, he forgot to look up, and only remembered to when he ran into someone. He broke out into hysterical apologies before he realized it was Japan with China. Japan looked a little startled by being ran into, but more so by Italy's condition.

"It's okay, Itary," Japan said calmly. It seemed like he had a little more to say, but China quickly cut him off.

"Not okay, aru!" he chided, flapping a sleeve angrily at the clumsy Italian. "You could have hurt my Kiku! No one hurt Kiku!"

Japan's face reddened slightly as he pushed China lightly behind him. "It's okay," he reiterated, though this time mostly to China. "I'm okay." He refocused on Italy who was still quietly apologizing, tears in his eyes. "Itary, what is wrong?"

He jumped slightly at having the attention back on him, and quickly tried to dry his tears, though they were quickly replaced. "I'm sorry! I'm just so scared! Germany won't talk to me, and I'm scared he hates me! What if he hates me? He's the only one I can talk to and he doesn't give me weird looks! He's the only one who makes me pasta when I'm sick! He's the only one who doesn't hurt me if I talk too much! What should I do, what should I do?"

At the end of his explanation, Italy was trembling and tears were cascading down his face. Japan's expression had now gone from calm to panicked. "W-werr," Japan said, obviously trying not to break into a panic himself, "perhaps Germany just needs some time to himself."

"But I need to talk to him!" Italy gasped, trying his best not to cling to Japan. "I want to know that he's okay! I'm just so scared he hates me and I don't know what to do!"

"He no hate you."

Italy finally paused his crying as he looked at China, almost shocked by the words. Italy usually didn't talk with China just because he was so far away from his home, and always had Russia looming close around him. But even though he didn't know him that well, he could tell by the expression on his face that he was very sure and determined on what he was saying. "H-how do you know?" Italy choked through a sob, his chest heaving painfully. Surely China couldn't understand what Germany was thinking right now—it couldn't be possible.

"No way he hate you," China insisted, waving a over-sleeved hand through the air. "He always talk about you! About how he care for you and keep you from hurting self and from making other people angry, aru. He always look after you. Only person who care about you lots could keep trying to make you safe, aru."

For once, Italy was speechless. He just stared at China, almost unable to believe what he had just said. He knew that sometimes Germany talked to Japan about how he constantly had to keep watch over Italy. But he had no idea that the other countries were aware of this. But to know that even China, a person that they didn't know very well, could tell how much Germany cared, made some ease begin to set in. As he calmed down, his stomach began to unclench, and he could breathe again. Germany was always taking care of him and always watching over him. He was always feeding him, always cleaning him up, always protecting him from any threat he could perceive. It was obvious—if he truly didn't care about him, he would have left him a long time ago. Finally, a small smile came to Italy's face as he wiped away his tears. "He… he really does care. Doesn't he?"

"_Hai_," Japan said, seeming to calm down now that Italy wasn't on the edge of having a complete breakdown. "He does care. Right now, he must just be confused and trying to think. Germany-san just needs time to himself is arr."

"_Shì_!" China quickly agreed, suddenly latching onto Japan's arm, making said country jump. "Once he have time to self, he'll be fine, aru!"

Italy smiled at them and, too happy to care, flung his arms around both of them. "_Grazie_!" he cheered, pulling them closer as he hugged tighter. "I'm so much happier now! Thank you so much!"

"You welcome, aru!"

"P-personar… space…"

Ignoring the fading pleas he heard from Japan, he continued to hug them closely. He was no longer worried. He knew now for a fact that everything had to be okay. Germany could never leave him; not after everything they'd been through.

If only Germany didn't need so much alone time.


End file.
